


The Founders' Gambit

by beneathawesternsky



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8531701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beneathawesternsky/pseuds/beneathawesternsky
Summary: The War has ended, and everyone is trying to move on. Hermione works at the Ministry and stumbles across a document that could change life for all witches and wizards in the United Kingdom. A Marriage Law buried in time is signed, and the plan set forth by three of the four Hogwarts Founders is finally completed.





	1. Chapter 1

Flames licked at the stone walls of the Hogwarts classroom where the three of them had agreed to meet that night. The wisest of the three sat at a great oak desk, an eagle feather quill grasped in her ink-stained fingers. She wrote and rewrote the words that the other two had been dictating, making the necessary changes. It needed to be clear, and magically binding. There could be no room for error. Not if he was to be stopped.

“What’s the penalty then, Godric, if either of them do not comply?”

Godric Gryffindor, swathed in bolts of gold and crimson crushed velvet, stood at the window, looking out at the black night sky. He drank from his chalice, the mulled mead now growing cold. He turned, and addressed Helga.

“It must be harsh. Harsh enough that no wizard, pure-blood, Muggle-born or anywhere in between, would not wish to break the law.”

Rowena set the eagle feather quill down, and stretched her aching hand. She knew the solution. She just hoped she wouldn’t be the one to propose it.

“Complete revocation of magical ability,” Rowena said, her tone betraying nothing of her nervousness. There was much that rode on this document. Her eyesight was failing her in the late hour of the night, and her energy waned. She didn’t have much time left, that much she knew. She wanted the document finished. She wanted Helena back before her illness took her. The document was the key to that happening. 

“Rowena,” Helga whispered, her hand placed lightly over her mouth. “That’s… unspeakable.”

“More unspeakable than what Salazar is saying? And if what Helena has told me is true, he already has placed a failsafe within the castle, that his heir might carry out his legacy.”

“Rowena is right, Helga,” Godric said, placing his broad hand on Helga’s shoulder. She adjusted the neckline of her yellow silk gown nervously. “It must be swift justice. The magical world cannot descend into such… arcane thinking. If Muggle-born and mixed-blood witches and wizards were completely excluded from the magical world… our race would die out. Magic would diminish.”

“Helga, the only way to ensure that pure-blood wizards lay down such inflammatory ideology is that their bloodlines should include Muggle-born and mixed-blood witches and wizards. I hardly think that a pure-blood could make a case against his or her own family…”

“I just wish it weren’t so final, Rowena,” Helga said, setting down her favored chalice. “It feels wrong.”

“It is much less wrong than the murder that Salazar Slytherin proposes. It is monstrous,” Godric Gryffindor rested his palm on the ruby-hilted sword at his side, wishing for nothing else than to run it through Salazar Slytherin’s belly. The man was a fanatic. What had once been a harmonious joining of the four of them had turned into a cauldron of suspicion, hate, and unspeakable wrongs.

“Very well,” Helga said, rising from her chair and standing behind Rowena. “We must all sign it.”

Rowena signed first, sliding the parchment over to Helga. Once Helga had added her own flowing script, Godric signed below without hesitation. There was only one signature left.

“How will you get him to sign it?” Helga asked Rowena.

She licked her lips. The young Baron von Metzger was a student of Slytherin house first and foremost, but he also loved Rowena’s daughter fiercely. She knew that if he were promised a chance with Helena, he would do anything for Rowena.

“Von Metzger has been Salazar’s favorite since his first year at Hogwarts. I believe I will be able to get him to trick Salazar into signing. It is our only hope.”

The three of them all looked at the document with their signatures, the ink still not dry. Rowena swiftly left the room, rolling the parchment up and securing it with a ribbon. It would find its way into the hands of the Baron von Metzger, who swore on his own blood that he would get his head of house to sign it. But the young Baron was an impatient boy of seventeen. He never made it to the dungeons that night, sure that if he secured Helena’s affections, he could get Salazar Slytherin to sign in due time.

When news of the murder-suicide had reached Hogwarts, the three founders quickly rushed to the Baron’s dormitory, looking for the document, hoping it bore a fourth and final, magically binding signature.

They tore apart the room, finding his school books, spare sheaves of parchment, but nothing that resembled their failsafe.

Not soon after, Rowena Ravanclaw, aided by her illness, died of a broken heart, and the magic that had been poured into the contract no longer existed. Unable to draft another document, Godric and Helga resigned themselves to the uncertain future of the wizarding world. In textbooks written of the history of Hogwarts, the document naturally was never mentioned, but the most astute historians could never quite accept that the three founders sat idly by while their fourth partner plotted his unspeakable evil.

It would be nearly ten centuries before their suspicions were confirmed.

* * *

The light seared through the window of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and onto Harry’s still sleeping face. Ever since the end of the war, the house’s wards were lifted, and all of the boarded-up windows were un-shuttered. Harry thought it was a good idea at first, until he realized the room Sirius made up for him had an east-facing window.

Fumbling around on his side table for his new wand, Harry found it and pointed it blindly at the window, raking the curtains shut. He grumbled and tossed over onto his side. He lay that way for several minutes before accepting that he could not go back to sleep.

Sleepily, Harry put his glasses on and padded barefoot down to the kitchen. There, a steaming pot of coffee waited for him. Harry and Sirius were in agreement that coffee was a necessity in the mornings—tea would simply not cut it.

Harry sat with his black coffee at the kitchen table. His godfather, already dressed in his trousers, a crisp white shirt and blue velvet waistcoat, sat reading the Daily Prophet. He peered over the top of the paper at his eighteen-year-old godson, whose hair stood in all different directions.

“Morning,” Sirius said, setting his paper down and swapping it for his own mug.

“Mmmm,” Harry replied. He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Maybe we shouldn’t have taken the boards off the windows after all.”

“Nonsense, Harry,” Sirius said cheerfully. “If you’d spent as much time indoors as I have, you’ll want as much sunlight as you can get. I’ll not spend my new, free life as a hermit.”

With his coffee half gone, Harry’s eyes didn’t hurt so badly, and he was able to focus. He pulled Sirius’s Daily Prophet to himself to read the headline. “’Minister of Magic Seeks to Rebuild Historic Hogwarts’ by Luna Lovegood.” Harry smiled. Luna had taken a position as a writer at the Daily Prophet, as well as her side project, The Quibbler. Her father had been none-too-pleased that she was taking a conventional job, but ever since the end of the War, Luna had been doing a wonderful job of covering the efforts to rebuild wizarding society.

“School’s going to be under construction this year,” Sirius said, absentmindedly. “Even with magic, it will take ages to rebuild. So I hear, they stumbled across several rooms that had been sealed up. Had to bring in historians and archivists before they could start to rebuild.”

Harry nodded. He’d had enough of hidden rooms and the secrets that Hogwarts held. He wanted nothing more than a normal life. But, seeing as he had chosen to become an Auror, that was not likely to happen for some time. Who else but he could make sure that all traces of Dark Magic were eradicated from their world. 

“I think I’ve just found a place,” Harry said, smoothing his hair down. “I won’t be here much longer.”

The look on Sirius’s face pained Harry. Sirius had enjoyed the past summer with Harry to share the large house. But, Harry was an adult, and had mentioned his search for a place of his own not too long ago.

“Oh?” Sirius prompted.

“Yeah, Ron and I were going to go in for a place near Diagon Alley. So he can help with Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. And it’s not a far walk to the Ministry either.”

“You know you’re welcome here as long as you like,” Sirius said kindly, hoping he wasn’t betraying his own insecurities.

“I know, Sirius, it’s just…” Harry twirled his mug a bit. “I think I need to have a place of my own. All my life I’ve been transferred from one place to another, feeling like it wasn’t ever permanent. The Dursley’s house, Hogwarts. Hogwarts was my home, but I can’t stay there now. 

“I know how you feel, Harry,” Sirius said. He really did. Hogwarts had become his home when he was eleven years old, and when he ran away from his parents, the Godric’s Hollow became his home, but it was never really _his_. Even Grimmauld Place reminded him of his unhappy childhood, but it was still more his than any other place he had been. Harry did not have that luxury. The Potter home was still derelict. It could be repaired, but only when Harry decided.

“Are you sure?”

Sirius nodded compassionately. He stood, and kissed his godson on the top of his messy mop of hair. “Has Ginny tried to tackle this mane yet?” Sirius set his mug in the sink and leaned back against the counter.

“Always. But it’s no use. Never is.” Harry smiled, following Sirius’s lead and depositing the mug in the sink. “Better get a move-on before I’m late for work. There’s a seizure of Dark books to be done today. Can’t miss it.”

“Malfoys?” Sirius asked hopefully.

“You know I can’t discuss work,” Harry said, a twinkle in his eyes. The large grin that spread across his face said everything.

* * *

 

Hermione Granger’s wand stuck out of her messy, curly bun. Poring through the documents found in the sealed-off room of the Hogwarts library, Hermione was sure she would not sleep for an entire year. There were so many texts for her to read, and only a handful were in English. The majority were Old English or Latin, giving Hermione even more of a headache. Still, she loved the challenge. After being able to take all of her NEWTS, Hermione longed for something that stimulated her intellectually.

Having taken a job at the Department of Historical Preservation at the Ministry of Magic, Hermione was not lacking for stimulation since the discovery at Hogwarts. She only regretted her wish slightly. 

Rubbing her tired eyes, Hermione rose from her desk, and headed for the break room where she made herself a cup of tea. It was bagged, but she wasn’t picky at the moment. Blowing on the hot liquid, she barely noticed when Percy Weasley had said her name not once, but twice already.

“Hermione!” he said, waving a hand in front of her face.

“Oh, Percy,” she said, shaking herself from her daze. She smiled weakly. “Yes?”

“The documents—“ he prompted.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I’ll have the report done soon. I am just working on a few more translations, and then I should be able to sign off on the library for construction.”

“Well, the Minister is getting a lot of pressure from parents. Apparently they are appalled that their students will be attending classes in Grasmere rather than Scotland this year. Shacklebolt is hoping to get the students back into the castle before Christmas.” 

“Christmas?” Hermione shouted, and then lowered her voice. “Christmas, Percy? Do you have any idea how long it takes to translate all these documents? To go over the magical blueprints of the school? If we don’t review all of the new finds at the school, we could very well be looking at another Chamber of Secrets.”

Percy swallowed hard. He knew all-too-well what the Chamber of Secrets had done to his dear sister. He struggled with his desire to please Shacklebolt, and his desire to do right by Hogwarts. In the end, he would always choose career, he feared.

“I know, Hermione, but with You-Know-Who—“ (“—Voldemort” Hermione corrected) Percy cleared his throat. “With _Voldemort_ gone, what more could possibly go wrong? The worst is behind us Hermione. Why can’t you just ease up?”

“You’ll forgive me, Perce, if I am not so quick to forget the last seven years of my life as you are.” Hermione huffed, and turned her back on Percy, making her way back to her desk.

“That report then?” he called out to her.

She grumbled, and shouted back, “It will be done this afternoon. I’ll leave it on my desk.”

It took Hermione a good five minutes before she could bring herself to look at another text. She gently pulled the brittle blue ribbon apart, and unfurled the parchment. About two lines in, Hermione’s stomach filled with ice. Before she had even translated the whole text, she could still make out the three signatures at the bottom.

_Rowena Ravenclaw_

_Helga Hufflepuff_

_Godric Gryffindor_

Her heart began a race, and she started at the beginning, fumbling for a fresh sheet of parchment to star the translation from Old English.

_“Of magical blood that’s pure,_

_let all but love endure._

_To make our numbers strong,_

_let not the words of the fanatical belong,_

_but unity’s truth be heard_

_and the lines of purity be blurred…”_

Hermione couldn’t believe her own eyes. A document from the founders of Hogwarts. Suddenly aware that she was touching a thousand-year-old document, Hermione snatched her cup of tea off her desk and rushed to the break room to place it in the sink. There was no way she was going to risk any damage to the parchment.

“Hermione!” she heard her name called yet again. She huffed in frustration. Who wanted her now?

It was Harry. He was rushing to her, a serious look on her face. It was a look she had hoped to never see again. She hadn’t seen it since Voldemort’s defeat. Suddenly Harry was all she could think about.

“What, what is it?” She swallowed her fear, lest she show Harry that she had not truly recovered from the last year of their lives.

“Malfoy,” he said, his eyes sharp. “The book seizure? Well, we’ve found something you ought to come look at.”

“Harry, _what is it_?” she asked, more urgently.

“Salazar Slytherin’s diaries,” he said, his tone grave. “I wouldn’t let anyone touch them. Not until _you_ came.”

“Harry,” Hermione started hesitantly. “I’m swamped enough as it is. Kinglsey wants to get a move-on with the library, and my report is almost done. I’ve just found something that needs my attention…” She inspected Harry’s face further. There was no way she could deny her best friend when he needed her. She sighed, and turned around. “Let me just put some things in order, and I’ll come.”

“Thank you, Hermione!” Harry said, his relief clear on his face.

At her desk, Hermione hastily considered the artifact. Most of the Dark wizards in the ministry had been dismissed from their posts or imprisoned, but Hermione took no chances. She hastily stacked a few sheaves of parchment on top of the document, hiding it in plain sight, and followed Harry to Malfoy Manor.

While Hermione and Harry raced to the library of Malfoy Manor and looked over the personal journals of the Slytherin forefather with the loyal Slytherin family looking on in anger, unable to legally object to the seizure, Percy Weasley raced through the Ministry completing his tasks in record time. As promised, Hermione had left her report on her desk, ready for the Minister’s signature. With a smile on his face, he grabbed the small stack of papers and raced off to Kingsley’s office. Good old Hermione. Always came through.


	2. Chapter 2

Kingsley had been sitting at his desk for nearly an hour, signing into effect new laws that would ensure the safety of the citizens of the country. Laws protecting Muggles from magical interference. Laws protecting magical creatures from subjugation. And the more mundane, which was typically zoning codes, and orders to rebuild Hogwarts, the site of the last battle of the war, which was the most affected. Hogwarts had become a symbol for the country. The sooner it was rebuilt, the sooner people would feel like life was moving on, and they would be able to heal from their experience.

So when Percy Weasley finally brought the report from Hermione Granger, allowing reconstruction to start on the Hogwarts library, he eagerly picked up his quill and signed. After signing the first sheet Percy handed him, he unstuck the second sheet from the back of the first, and signed it too.

What he hadn't expected was for the sheet to begin shining its own light, as if lit from the inside, through the actual lines of script. After the sheet illuminated, a stack of fresh parchment appeared on Kingsley's desk.

Kingsley and Percy both stood looking at the scene on the Minister's desk. Unsure what he had just done, Kingsley looked over the paper he had just signed. It was in a language he didn't understand, but the stack of papers to the side were clear to him. It looked like a list, never-ending.

_Abbot, Hannah…. Longbottom, Neville_

_Alcott, Amanda…. Goyle, Gregory_

_Andrews, Francine…._

Kingsley's eyebrows knit together, making his eyes grow dark. He didn't like the look of the list… It went alphabetically by female name, with an accompanying male name that seemed to be at random. Looking back at the sheet he had signed, he noticed that above his very own name were the unmistakable signatures of Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor.

"Weasley," Kingsley said in a low baritone. "Find Hermione."

Percy swallowed and nodded, and without being told twice, left the Minister's office and started his search for Hermione Granger.

* * *

"You simply cannot confiscate those items, Potter, I'll not have it," Lucius Malfoy had shouted across the courtyard of his vast estate.

"And yet, here I am doing it all the same," he said, placing the books in a bag much like the one Hermione had charmed before they set out to destroy Horcruxes. "You're lucky we're just taking books, and not taking  _you_  to Azkaban."

"You've been ever so kind to remind me of my indebtedness to you,  _Potter_ ," the words dripped like acid from Malfoy's mouth.

"If it weren't for Narcissa, your family would be in prison with the rest of the Death Eaters," Harry said, wiping his hands on his jeans, as if the books could transfer residual Dark magic. "Good day, Mr. Malfoy. I suggest you choose your reading materials more carefully from now on."

Walking away, Harry made eye contact with Hermione. The look on Harry's face said everything. He had been waiting for years to give the Malfoy family their comeuppance. The two of them turned and Disapparated to just outside of the Ministry. When they both landed in the crowded streets of London, they both burst out laughing.

"Did you see his face?" Harry said between laughs.

Hermione was wiping tears from her eyes and nodding. "Serves the old git right," she said. "I only wish I had a camera."

The two of them entered the Ministry through the public toilet, giggling as they exited the row of Floos in the main entrance to the ministry. They entered the elevator, and Harry hiked the messenger bag up on his shoulder. It was a good haul for the day. The Auror vault of Dark Artifacts was growing, and the wards around the vault were ironclad. Harry was sure that Dumbledore himself would have been proud of the security job.

When the elevator opened on Hermione's floor, the slight smile still playing on her face was wiped off by none other than Percy Weasley, standing in front of her with a panicked look on his own. Hermione turned to Harry and gave him a knowing glance. "Gotta go," she said.

"Right, see ya," Harry said. "Thanks for the help with the journals. I'm sure they'll make an interesting read when you get around to it."

Hermione watched as the elevator closed, and Harry was whisked away to the Auror Department. "What is it now, Percy?"

"Hermione, you'd better come quick," Percy said, more seriously than he usually did.

"Why is everything so urgent today?" Hermione murmured to herself, following closely behind the Weasley boy.

When they reached Kingsley's office, all of the office staff seemed to be walking on eggshells. Suddenly, Hermione felt that this was more than your average office blunder. Two witches stood in a corner whispering to each other. One wizard ran furiously from one end of the office to the other, carrying a stack of papers that looked curiously like the ones that were on Hermione's desk not an hour earlier.

"Hey!" Hermione called furiously. "That's my work!" She tore off after the wizard, and was stopped by a familiar voice calling her back.

"Hermione, we need to speak.  _Now_." It was Kingsley.

Hermione turned and walked into Kingsley's office. The door was shut behind them, and Kinglsey sat gravely behind his desk, which had been cleared of everything but a tall stack of parchment, and one aged-looking artifact. The Founders document she'd started translation on.

"I think you need to explain what this is, Hermione," Kinglsey said. His tone was serious, but he was still as calm as ever.

"I just started translating that before Harry called me away to assist on a book seizure."

He held up a fresh sheet of parchment with her own handwriting. "If this translation is going where I think it's going, I think we have a major problem on our hands."

Hermione's mouth went dry. "Why?" she asked, and added slowly. "What happened?"

"I was signing things for young Weasley out there, and thought nothing of it when he passed me your report—"

"My  _report_?" Hermione exclaimed, a little too loudly. "It's not done yet. I told Percy I would have it for him this afternoon."

"It seems Percy became impatient, and this came along with it, and in my haste, it was signed."

" _Signed_?" Hermione looked at the document. It had enormous historical value—and now Kingsley's signature was forever immortalized below the three Hogwarts founders.

"I would apologize for ruining such a historical document, Hermione, if it weren't for the fact that a moment later it began to glow, and  _this_  stack of papers appeared immediately after."

Hermione looked at the papers. The words were upside down, but it looked like a list of some sort. When she turned the stack, and saw a list of names, she shook her head in confusion. Without a word, she took the Hogwarts document and the beginning of the translation, and grabbed Kingsley's quill from his desk. He gave no objections. After a few minutes, Hermione had a full translation. The realization made her blanch.

With her hands shaking, she read aloud to Kingsley:

_"Of magical blood that's pure,_

_let all but love endure._

_To make our numbers strong,_

_let not the words of the fanatical belong,_

_but unity's truth be heard_

_and the lines of purity be blurred._

_A magical bond made strong by marriage_

_Lest refusal ensure a magical miscarriage._

_Magical match made simple by law,_

_Let no witch or wizard object to any flaw._

_Refusal shall strip them of power_

_in this magical law's first gleaming hour._

_If marriage not be consummated by half a year's time_

_endure magical powers' loss in witch or wizard's prime."_

Hermione's voice faltered, and she slumped down into a chair opposite Kingsley's desk. She felt as if she was going to be sick. Her eyes fixed lazily on the stack of papers on Kinglsey's desk.

"This isn't good, Hermione," Kinglsey said, his eyes full of fiery warning.

"Kingsley, I am so sorry. I wasn't done yet. I would never have intended for this to happen, please—"

"Hermione!" Kinglsey stood, and rounded his desk, where he leaned against its edge. "The fault, I am afraid, does not lie with one person alone. Perhaps it is Percy and I, perhaps it is all of us. But it is done. This list seems random at first glance, but upon further inspection, it appears that all witches and wizards of Muggle-birth or mixed-blood origin have been paired with a pure-blood wizard. This appears to have been the design of the three founders. And the absence of a fourth signature is all the more telling… I think I know why they drafted this."

Hermione's mind was racing a mile a minute. "But how did  _your_  signature cause this to happen?"

Kingsley shook his head. "I have no clue. But when the press finds out, I'm going to be out of a job, I'm sure."

"No!" Hermione shouted, suddenly standing. "No, no, Kingsley,  _I'll_  take the blame. You can't lose your position. You are the best one to lead us out of this darkness."

"I'm the one who signed it, Hermione. They will surely blame me. As they are right to."

"What if…" Hermione grasped at straws. "What if the public didn't know it was your signature that activated this power? What if we just revealed that we found the document and then this list appeared?" Her eyes shone with tears.

Kingsley shook his head. "That is not my way, Hermione, and you know it." He sighed, and looked at the stack.

"The public will be told. I will hold a conference at the end of the day today. Bad news is best given on Friday, if only to give the public a chance to digest it."

"I'll be there, at the conference. I'll speak and let everyone know that it's partially my fault."

Kinglsey smiled, and shook his head. "You just get to work on signing off on the rest of the Hogwarts construction, and leave the rest to Percy and myself. You may… do some more research for me. So we know exactly what we're dealing with. And how to reverse it, if it's at all possible."

"I'll get right on it. I'll consult a few of our Curse Breakers. And the Department of Mysteries maybe…" Hermione felt as if she was in a daze. She turned to leave Kingsley's office.

"Hermione," Kingsley called. "Go home. Don't worry about this right now. We'll start fresh on Monday."

"Right," Hermione said, still in a fog. She swallowed, and nodded at Kingsley before leaving his office.

She was able to walk all the way to the Floo networks before she realized where she was. She tucked her wand into her robes, and grabbed a pinch of Floo powder before shouting the first place that came to her mind.

* * *

The fireplace in the study of Number 12 Grimmauld Place erupted into green flames, and Hermione Granger stepped out of it with a vacant expression on her face. Sirius had been sitting in his father's old chair, reading a Muggle novel he picked up at the antique book shop down the street (Oliver Twist) when he watched the young woman step through the flames. It took her a moment to register that Sirius was sitting right in front of the fireplace.

"Hermione?" Sirius asked, closing his book abruptly and rising to greet her. "Is everything alright?"

He stood just in front of her, looking down at the girl whose head rose no higher than his shoulders. He could see that she was trembling. Without a word, she strode past him, and approached the side table where the decanter of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey was always full. She grabbed an etched crystal glass and poured herself a generous three fingers and drank it all in one go. Sirius's eyes widened at seeing the eighteen-year-old girl behave so. It was so… un-Hermione.

Shivering slightly at the burning liquid that was going down her throat, Hermione poured another three fingers. Before the glass hit her lips, Sirius stepped in and placed his hand gently on Hermione's to stop her from drinking herself silly.

"Easy there, Hermione," Sirius said. Still, he let her hold onto the glass. Clearly, she thought she needed it.

"What's going on?" He asked, his fatherly concern for his godson's best friend on high alert.

Hermione's eyes pleaded with Sirius's. She shook her head in disbelief. "It's all my fault, Sirius," she said. "I'll be shunned for sure. And Kingsley will be sacked, I'm sure of it."

"You're not making any sense, Hermione.  _Tell me what's happened_."

"Harry," Hermione said simply. "I think I should wait for Harry… I don't know if I can… say this twice."

"Is Harry alright?" Sirius asked with urgency.

Hermione nodded. "But I think he's going to be very cross with me, so I don't know what to tell you."

With a shaking hand, Hermione brought the firewhiskey up to her mouth and drank modestly. As if summoned psychically, the Floo blazed green again, and Harry stepped through, looking around.

"Hermione!" Harry called, reaching her. He put his hands on her upper arms, and looked into her eyes. "Are you alright?"

Hermione gave a small, sad chuckle. "Of course you would ask that. Selfless Harry. Always thinking of other people."

"Of course I'm thinking of you, Hermione, after what I heard in the Ministry hallways. Kingsley is about to give a conference in the entryway in about ten minutes."

"And it's all my fault. You might not be able to marry Ginny now, and I…" the pit in Hermione's stomach grew when she thought of Ron, and how she hadn't thought to look past the first three names on the list. Why didn't she look?

Harry's face fell, but he kept his demeanor neutral. "Hermione, if what Percy told me is true, you can't be blamed. Blimey, even Percy can't be blamed—it was just a human error, Hermione."

"Alright, both of you!" Sirius said, his hands resting on one of both Hermione and Harry's shoulders. " _What_  is going on?"

Hermione sank down into the very chair where Sirius had been sitting before. She took a moment to breathe before she told Sirius what had happened, as she understood it.

"It must have been around the time that Salazar Slytherin built the Chamber of Secrets. When he said Muggle-born and mixed-blood students couldn't be trusted. And he put the Basilisk in the Chamber to kill non-pure students. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor wanted a way to ensure that the pure-bloods had to deal with intermarriage. If they didn't, their magic was taken from them."

"How can that be possible?" Sirius asked. "They were some of the greatest wizards who ever lived, but surely they didn't have that kind of power."

" _Together_  they must have," Hermione added sadly, looking at the bottom of her empty glass. "I just don't understand how Kingsley's signature was enough to complete whatever spell or curse it was."

"But Hermione," Harry said, kneeling in front of his best friend, taking her hand. "You said it was just a stack of papers. What's to say it actually worked? How do we know anyone is going to lose their magic?"

Hermione smiled sadly. "Don't you see, Harry? Someone has to refuse. And when they lose their magic, we will know. But someone has to lose their magic for that to happen… The question is, who is it going to be? And what constitutes a refusal? There is so much I don't understand… Kingsley sent me home. And I listened." She shook her head. "I should go back, I can't just sit at home all weekend like a… a silly little girl."

She rose to leave, but Sirius grabbed her arm, and pulled her gently back. The look on her face broke his heart, and not knowing what else to do, he pulled her into an embrace. Hermione must have needed this gesture desperately, for she melted into his chest, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Sirius placed one hand on her curly mane of hair, and the other on her upper back.

After making a few comforting sounds, and after Hermione's quiet sobs stopped, she pulled back. Sirius, assuming the role of nurturer yet again, wiped the remaining tears from Hermione's face.

"There there now," he said, a comforting smile on his face. "I'm sure there's got to be some kind of solution. And even if there isn't, Hermione, the wizarding world has dealt with worse."

"I just don't want this to be the kind of world that we live in now. If it's not one crisis, it's another."

"If this is a crisis, Hermione, I'm fairly certain we'll be alright in the long run," Harry chimed in. "After all. You said there were six months before the spell took effect, right? You can do a lot of work in six months. You'll probably have it all sorted by then."

Hermione nodded. She wasn't too sure of herself, but she knew that there had to be answers out there. There just had to be.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," Hermione said, clearing her eyelashes of tears that hadn't yet fallen. "I came here looking for Harry, and just barged in on you. I shouldn't have come here."

"Nonsense," he said. "You're welcome to stay if you'd like." He thought a moment. "As a matter of fact, I'm going to insist that you stay. I don't like the idea of you staying in that apartment of yours alone."

Hermione smiled. "I wouldn't be alone. Crookshanks is probably yowling for dinner already."

"If it's all the same, Hermione, I think Harry and I would feel better if you stayed with us tonight. You can Apparate home and grab Crookshanks, but please don't refuse the offer."

Hermione nodded and smiled. When Hermione Disapparated to her own apartment to collect her things, Harry and Sirius were left in the parlor staring at each other. Neither of them had to say it aloud. They knew that come Saturday morning when the  _Daily Prophet_  was delivered to homes across the nation, all of wizarding England would be looking for someone to blame. And they would be there to help Hermione in the days to come. She was going to need it.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione, Harry and Sirius had all congregated around the fire in the parlor. Sirius had closed the Floo network, hoping to stave off any unwanted visitors. The window of the parlor remained open after Hermione had stated that she wanted the  _Daily Prophet_  delivery owl to have absolutely no problem reaching them. Sirius and Harry exchanged a look of pity, but hid it from Hermione.

On her fourth glass of Firewhiskey, spread modestly throughout the evening, Hermione had thrown several pillows down in front of the fire and curled up with Crookshanks who purred soothingly next to her. She scratched his head mindlessly, staring into the dying embers of the fire. Sirius, who had resumed reading  _Oliver Twist_ , rose and sat on the brick stoop of the fireplace. He stoked the fire with a poker, and added another log without using magic. If he made things too easy on himself in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, he was sure he would go mad.

"I only saw one match," she said to no one in particular. Sirius stopped stoking the fire, and rested his arms on his knees, letting Hermione continue. "Hannah Abbot and Neville Longbottom." She frowned. "They were already dating, and they were paired together."

"Perhaps there's hope after all," Sirius said hopefully.

"I didn't look at any more names. Why didn't I look at any more names?" She rubbed at her eyes, trying to fight the tears that threatened to fall.

"Hermione," Harry said, hoping not to let himself think too much on the list. "You shouldn't think about that all night. There's nothing you can do right now."

Hermione sat up and crossed her legs. "I shouldn't, but I will. And Ron…" She squeezed her eyes shut. "What if we're not…?"

"Then, you'll handle it with the grace that we know you have," Sirius said. "I think many witches and wizards might be surprised, if not a little disappointed with the results, but they will nonetheless… most likely be expected to make it work. Ron cannot possibly hold this against you."

"You don't know Ronald as well as I do, then," she said. "He probably already knows about what happened, and still no owl."

"Do you suppose they'll publish the list tomorrow?" Harry asked hopefully.

"If not, I'm Flooing into work to see for myself. I can't wait until Monday," Hermione was resolute. Suddenly, and without warning, she yawned and blinked heavily.

Looking at the grandfather clock in the corner, Hermione was surprised that the time was already two thirty in the morning. "Merlin," Hermione said. "It's so late."

"I am not going to last any longer," Harry said, rising from the couch. He placed his hand reassuringly on Hermione's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "We'll fix this, 'Mione. You'll see."

Sirius and Hermione watched as Harry ascended the stairwell. After a pause, Hermione stood to follow her friend up the stairs. Sirius stood with her, and placed a hand gently on the back of her shoulder.

"Sit with me a moment," he said, his tone full of meaning.

Hermione hesitated, knowing she might just get another small rallying speech. She had just about enough of it to last a lifetime. Sirius sat on one of the very lived-in, black velvet couches, and waved Hermione onto the spot next to him. She obliged, her eyes heavy with sleep.

"Hermione, I wanted to wait for Harry to leave before I told you…" He placed his forearms on his knees and looked over at Hermione. "Harry will still stand by you, no matter what happens with he and Ginny. You know that, don't you?"

At this, Hermione's face contorted, and she let out the tears that she had stifled all night. Sirius draped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his chest.

"It's more than I deserve," she said between gasps.

"No," Sirius said with a smile in his voice. "It's  _just_  what you deserve. I love Kingsley, but he shouldn't have just signed what was pushed in front of him. He's got a lot of pressure on him right now, but it was careless. And  _not your fault_."

"Part of me knows that, but I can't help but think that it is," she said, wiping tears off her cheeks.

"That's the human nature again," Sirius added with a bit of humor.

Hermione smiled and looked up at her best friend's godfather, who had become something of a mentor to her as well. "Thank you," she said simply. Sniffling and taking a much-needed steadying breath, she asked Sirius to stay with her. "Just a little while longer? I'm not quite ready to sleep."

Sirius chuckled and smiled. He knew she needed sleep, but he would indulge her a little longer. He nodded, and held her to his chest. Before too long, Hermione fell asleep to the sound of Sirius's heartbeat, and Sirius followed soon after.

* * *

The  _Daily Prophet_  owl hadn't yet reached Grimmauld Place. Rather, it was Ronald Weasley who woke Hermione and Sirius. The door to the house banged open, and caused Hermione to stir. Sirius, after nearly a lifetime at war and in prison, snapped awake immediately and grabbed his wand, hoping not to disturb Hermione, whose head rested in his lap.

When Sirius saw that the source of the commotion was Ron, he lowered his wand. Seeing the redness of his face, however, Sirius did not put the wand away just yet.

"Oh this is rich," he said, an unusually thick copy of the  _Prophet_  clutched in his hand, his wand in the other.

Hermione jerked awake, her eyes unfocused. She rose to a seated position, and looked towards the entryway.

"Ron!" she said, rising to her feet. Her heart began to race, and she searched for the words that she'd been rehearsing all night.

"Why didn't you come to me, Hermione?" Ron bellowed. "You come  _here_ , but you don't come to the Burrow?"

"Hermione was upset, Ron," Sirius said, rising to his feet. "She came here looking for Harry. We… told her she shouldn't spend the night alone."

"I couldn't face you, Ron… I didn't know how to explain…"

"Ron, you mustn't blame Hermione," Sirius said.

"Oh, I know exactly how it happened," Ron said, seething. "Kingsley and Percy can share the bulk of the blame, but still you were so careless with it…"

" _Ron_!" Harry's voice came from the bottom of the stairwell. "That is unfair and you know it."

"That's easy for you to say, mate," Ron said, throwing the paper at Harry. "Got matched up with Ginny, didn't you? Nothing to worry about."

Hermione gaped. Her head pounded, and she was desperately dehydrated, but the realization sunk into her stomach. She hadn't been paired with Ron.

"Then we…"

"Weren't paired, that's right," Ron said, his eyes narrowing at Hermione.

"Then who—" she started.

"Have a look then," Ron said, pointing at the  _Prophet_  owl that soared into the window, dropping the paper on the couch. Hermione snatched it up, and Sirius grabbed a small treat for the owl from the tin he kept for deliveries.

Hermione ripped through the paper, finding the Gs.

And there it was.

_Granger, Hermione…. Black, Sirius_

Hermione's mouth gaped. "This can't be true," she said. She looked up at Ron, and then to Harry, who had evidently found the Gs faster than her.

"Apparently it is. And funny that I should find you here this morning, sleeping with him before the ink on the  _Prophet_  is dry."

"What? Sleeping with—" Sirius looked up from the owl that he had just fed to Ron, who was sending daggers at him with his eyes.

"Sirius, you… and Hermione…" Harry didn't know what to say.

Sirius laughed. "That's preposterous, Harry,  _I_  can't be on that list," he said, holding his hand out to Hermione for the paper. He scanned down to 'Granger' and found his own name.

Hermione started shaking on the spot. She felt as if she'd been doused with a bucket of ice water.

Sirius licked his lips and rubbed at his scratchy facial hair. "But… I'm too old."

"Evidently not,  _Sirius_. Not even forty yet, are you? What a bachelor  _you_  are." Ron gripped his wand tighter.

"Ron, it's not his fault either," Harry said defensively. He approached his friend, hoping to talk some sense into him. He lowered his voice.

"Ron, come off it, Hermione was going to go into the Ministry next week and start looking into how to fix this. If there's anyone who can find an answer, it's her."

Ron shook his head. "Nah. This is just too cocked up for me. I hope you two are happy," he turned on his heels and opened the door, where he would Disapparate. "Better get a move on, Hermione. This one's not getting any younger. He might have a few good years left in him."

And at that, Ron was gone, leaving the three of them alone with their papers. Each of them sported mystified looks. Hermione couldn't bring herself to look Sirius in the eye. Ron's words cut deep. She had such deep feelings for Ron, and he was so willing to give up on her. She couldn't let herself think about it too deeply, or she would lose all composure.

Rather than take the paper from Sirius, Hermione approached Harry and took his paper. She dashed off for the kitchen and spread the paper out on the counter. She ran her finger down the long list of names. There were names she knew, names she didn't. A good majority of her friends from school had been paired with people they were already dating, but then there were those like her whose matches had been almost shocking.

Hermione gasped when she saw 'Lovegood, Luna…. Malfoy, Draco.'

She hadn't noticed that both Harry and Sirius had entered the kitchen behind her, and were scanning the other paper together.

"Hermione… These matches. Some of them are fine, but then…" Harry swallowed, hoping not to address the hippogriff in the room.

She had frozen in her place when she reached the end of the list. It was Sirius who brought her from her thoughts, having placed a mug of coffee on the surface in front of her. She flinched slightly, and looked at Sirius's chest, still unable to make eye contact.

"Thank you," she said, and grabbed the mug appreciatively. She drank it black and scalding, but didn't care. When she was sure he wasn't looking at her anymore, Hermione looked at Sirius, seated at the small kitchen table. He was running a hand pensively over his facial hair, his other hand resting on his hot coffee mug.

Hermione then allowed the realization to sink in. There was a very real possibility that Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, a man who was technically old enough to be her own father, could become her husband. Everything she had assumed up to this point about her own life had just been thrown out the window. Rather than have a boy her age, her other best friend, be her spouse, she very likely was going to be marrying a thirty-eight year old man.

The twenty year age difference apparently meant nothing to the Founders. And why would it? In the tenth century C.E., it was not uncommon for young brides to marry older men. The fact that she and Sirius were probably the biggest age gap on the list was not lost on her either.

She was then faced with only a few options. She could refuse outright, potentially sacrificing her own magic, and perhaps Sirius's as well, she could marry Sirius, and consummate their marriage (the thought made her blush). She could find a way to reverse this whole problem, and find a way to patch things over with Ron. She could marry Sirius as a failsafe, but still work on reversing the spell… a million possibilities, and yet she had no idea what she wanted, or what she was even capable of.

"Harry, if you wouldn't mind," Sirius's voice was calm, and he addressed the window before him, not looking at his godson. "I think I would like a word in private with Hermione."

Harry looked from Hermione to Sirius, and nodded silently, leaving the two of them in the kitchen alone. Sirius rose gracefully from his chair, and approached Hermione, who stood frozen at the counter.

When he reached her, he was no more than a foot away from her, gazing down at her. Unable to look away any longer, Hermione looked up at Sirius, and found that her cheeks had grown unusually warm. She looked up into his steel grey eyes (had she noticed they were that grey before?), and waited for him to speak.

"I… I want you to know that I support what ever you want to do, Hermione. If you want to wait, and research some more, that is fine. If you want me to refuse, I will. Until someone else refuses, we don't know if both parties lose their magic. But if I can shift the blame onto myself, if that's what you want, I will."

" _Sirius_ ," Hermione breathed. "I could  _never_  ask you to give up your magic. And to tell you the truth, it may be selfish but I… don't want to give up mine either. Being Muggle born I…" she stopped, not ready to share her deepest fear. "I think I will do some more research. I have a feeling that someone out there will refuse before too long, and we will know more."

Sirius nodded, waiting for Hermione to finish.

"Sirius, I know I get a reputation for being a bookworm, but… this is big magic. Bigger and greater than I can understand. If Dumbledore were here… but he's not. I'm just… preparing myself for failure, is all."

The look on Sirius's face made Hermione blush. His eyebrows raised in surprise.

"It's a big gap, Sirius, I won't lie," she said, putting her messy hair behind her ear. "But I could think of any number of people who would be worse matches." She scrunched up her face in mortification. "I didn't mean that you—"

Sirius laughed and placed his hands on Hermione's arms. "I understand what you mean, Hermione, and… I'm flattered." Hermione was sure her face was now a deep purple.

She nodded and backed up a few paces. "Well, I'd best… um… get to the Ministry."

"It's Saturday," he said, smiling at her sheepishness.

"Oh," she said, searching her mind for more excuses to leave the Black house. "I suppose then I should go home."

Sirius smiled a wolfish smile. He couldn't help himself. "Hermione, I told you Harry and I want you to stay here over the weekend. What happened this morning hasn't changed that. You have a room upstairs. You have your things. And Crookshanks. I'm afraid we would be very worried if you didn't stay here."

Hermione chewed her lip a bit and nodded.

"In any case, Hermione," Sirius added, approaching her in the doorway. "My father kept a very vast library. I haven't gone through all of it. To be honest, much of the material is quite boring, but I know there are quite a few rare volumes. Primary sources and such. I don't seriously think the key to all this is in my private library, but if it helps you to focus—doing something. You're welcome to it."

Hermione smiled down at the floor. He knew just what would make her happy. Because sitting around and doing nothing was not Hermione's way. Even if her reading got her nowhere, she would at least be able to say that she tried.

"Thanks, Sirius," she said, and turned, heading for the room she used when the Order of the Phoenix was active.

In her wake, Sirius followed slowly, and paused in the entryway of the parlor. Unable to bring himself to read, he ascended the stairs a moment after Hermione, and closed himself in the master suite. With the door closed behind him, he leaned against it and smiled to himself. He covered his mouth with his hand a moment, and laughed breathily. He shook his head.

He knew he should be as furious at Ron at the prospect of marrying a girl twenty years his junior. But something inside Sirius made him feel that there might be worse fates. Having previously resigned himself to a life of bachelorhood, Sirius allowed himself a moment to revel in the prospect that it might not be in his future after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Thousand-Year-Old Marriage Law Passed at Ministry by Luna Lovegood

With our dark days finally behind us, wizarding England woke up this morning surprised to find that a ten-centuries-old Marriage Law was passed at the Ministry on Friday. What appears to be a document signed by three of the four Hogwarts Founders made its way to the desk of Minister Shacklebolt, and was signed in a clerical error. It is unclear at this time why Shacklebolt's signature was enough to activate the spell, but nonetheless, a list of the pairings has been provided in this morning's edition of The Daily Prophet.

Upon review of the list, it appears that nearly three fourths of the list consists of pairings that were solidified in all but law already. The last fourth, however, has left some room for question—why these matches?

The head researcher on this project, Hermione Granger, was not available for comment, but sources at the Ministry say that as soon as Miss Granger is able to compile her findings, they will be published by The Daily Prophet exclusively.

According to the law, marriages must be consummated by January 1st,1999. Also according to the law, refusal will result in magical abilities being stripped from the witch or wizard refusing. It is yet to be seen if both parties will lose their magical abilities. No refusals have been reported as of this edition of the Prophet.

Minister Shacklebolt, in an address to the press on Friday afternoon, encouraged Wizarding England not to panic. "Much is being done to find out the root of this magic, and how it can be undone. We encourage witches and wizards not to refuse in any way, as it may result in the stripping of their magical ability," Shacklebolt stated. "The Ministry acknowledges the great blunder that is this law, but as always, we persevere and forge ahead. We must take comfort in knowing that so many of the matches seem to have been already existing matches, but not fret at the confusion of the minority." The Minister went on to add a personal note, saying, "I take full responsibility onto myself. There were many factors that led to this happening, and I encourage the public not to place blame on any witch or wizard but me. I will perform my duties as Minister and work tirelessly to bring an end to this spell."

Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed in Sirius's house, having read the article now three times. She was willing herself to not read the article below, but she knew she must.

Hijinx at the Ministry: A Nefarious Plot? by Rita Skeeter

The Ministry of Magic has done all it can to spin a web of deceit in the wake of this disastrous law. The Minister himself has attempted to shift blame to himself, but only a fool would take the bait.

Sources within the Ministry inform me that none other than the meddlesome Hermione Granger is to blame for this law. When one consults the list of matches, one cannot help but notice that Hermione is yet again paired with a new wizard. When not ensnaring the affections of famous Quidditch players, or trying to seduce the Boy Who Lived, Hermione has been seen with her fiery haired beau, Ronald Weatherby. Now, it appears Miss Granger's taste has run to the more exotic—exonerated wizard Sirius Black, no less than twenty years her senior.

Will there ever be a wizard to satisfy the appetite of this temptress? And did she have to drag all of England into her plot?...

The article continued to sling accusations, and speculated that Hermione had plotted several of the more shocking matches. Hermione was seeing red.

"That foul, loathsome little beetle!" Hermione shouted. She stood and paced around the bedroom a moment before looking at the desk by the window. There was a small stack of fresh parchment and a black feather quill just itching to be picked up. All it would take was one letter to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to bring to light Rita Skeeter being an unregistered Animagus.

She sat at the desk, grabbing a sheet of parchment and dipping her quill into the ink.

To Mister Harold Burke,

I write to you today to….

Hermione's quill froze. She felt dirty even writing the letter. She felt like a tattle-tale. She felt every bit of a goody-two-shoes as many would have her believe she was. Still, the Skeeter woman couldn't just publish such vitriol and get away with it. This was Hermione's life she was meddling with.

As Hermione sat and steamed over the letter, her attention was drawn by a tapping at the window. A tawny owl sat tapping at the window, clutching a red envelope in its claws. Hermione blanched and thought for a moment about not opening the window.

Not wishing for the Howler to grow any worse than it already would be, Hermione threw open the window and grabbed the letter. The owl carrying it turned and immediately flew away. She didn't blame it—she would fly away from it if she could too.

With a trembling hand, she opened it, and the words began to boom across her room in a screechy, elderly woman's voice.

"THINK THIS IS FUNNY DO YOU? LITTLE MUDBLOODS LIKE YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS IN THE MINISTRY! TOYING WITH PEOPLE'S LIVES. MY GRANDSON'S LIFE! HE WAS ENGAGED TO MARRY A PURE-BLOOD WITCH BEFORE YOU HAD TO RUIN IT ALL. IF YOU THINK THAT YOUR LITTLE MIXED-BLOOD FRIEND IS GOING TO MARRY MY DRACO, YOU HAVE ANOTHER THING COMING TO YOU!

HE'S TOLD ME ALL ABOUT HOW YOU WERE AT SCHOOL. LITTLE KNOW-IT-ALL WHO WAS ONLY TRYING DESPERATELY TO COVER UP YOUR SHAMEFUL HERITAGE. NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY, YOU WILL NEVER BE AS GOOD AS THE REST OF US. BOOKS WON'T CHANGE WHAT YOU ARE.

YOU JUST WATCH YOURSELF MISS GRANGER.

ERIS MALFOY"

The envelope ripped itself up and scattered across the desk. Hermione sat fuming, shaking with anger. Her eyes were full to the brim with tears.

In the cacophony of the Howler, Hermione hadn't noticed the door to her room was opened. Sirius stood at the doorway, his wand clutched defensively in his hand. When Hermione didn't turn or acknowledge his presence, he made himself known.

"Hermione," he called gently.

She flinched slightly, but did not turn. She was too ashamed to show Sirius her face.

His footsteps were quiet as he approached her in the chair. He knelt beside her, and looked up at the young girl whose gaze was still upon the pile of red confetti. Without blinking, a tear finally fell. She turned to look down at Sirius.

"Eris Malfoy is an old bat. Over a hundred years old. I myself have been privy to some of her insults, in my younger days…" Sirius took her hand in both of his. "Don't let any of that get to you. You really are the brightest witch of your age. And more powerful than any pure-blood witch I've ever met."

"Hermione, say something," Sirius said.

She sniffled slightly, but held her head high. "I've been called a Mudblood more times than I care to admit, over the last seven years. That old prejudiced bitch can't hurl anything at me that I haven't heard before." Sirius's face softened. "But if it's war she wants, it's war she'll get."

Sirius chuckled. "Eris Malfoy is hardly someone to worry about, Hermione. I doubt the woman can even pick up a wand anym—"

"Not Eris," Hermione said, a cruel twinkle in her eye. "Rita Skeeter."

"Hermione, are you sure you want to do this?" Harry asked from across the kitchen island. Hermione, looking at the envelope in front of her nodded silently. The two of them had worked on the letter for nearly an hour.

"Yeah, Harry, I'm sure." Hermione smiled a little. "She got a free pass for a few years. You would think that having this over her would mean she would stop writing such vile things about us, but… here we are."

"But it's Azkaban. The sentence might be short, but… Six months in that place. Even that would change a person."

Hermione's eyes were glossy as she regarded her friend. "Harry, she threw me under the bus! It was my name in The Daily Prophet. Who knows how many more Howlers I'm going to get? I might even get sacked, if enough people complain to the Ministry."

Hermione caught the eye of Sirius, who stood in the doorway. He regarded Hermione a moment. Having spent twelve years in Azkaban, he knew exactly what Hermione was condemning Rita Skeeter to.

"Sirius," Harry pleaded. "Tell Hermione what it's like there."

"I know what it's like there, Harry!" Hermione said, approaching the owl at the kitchen window, ready to slip a knut into its pouch. "Just because it's a foul place does not mean she doesn't deserve to be sent there."

Sirius gave a great sigh. "Hermione, it is an awful place," he said. "Though I myself was an unregistered Animagus once."

"But you registered as soon as you were exonerated," Hermione argued.

"I did." Sirius was smiling. "I'm not arguing with you. Merely stating that the world is not black and white. But perhaps this Skeeter woman deserves a taste of her own medicine."

Hermione, content with Sirius's answer, gave the letter to the owl and sent it on its way.

Hermione spent the rest of the weekend up to her elbows in Sirius's library. It was a vast library, to be sure. The artifacts she found were like a dream to her. There was even something she was fairly certain was written by Merlin himself. But still, she didn't find anything that might be illuminating.

With the library at Hogwarts under construction, and its contents in Grasmere at the temporary location of Hogwarts's classes, Hermione would have to either travel north to gain access, or find more sources in or around London.

She would be able to start to put together a plan as soon as she arrived at the Ministry on Monday morning.

When she was making her way to the staff entrance of the Ministry that morning, fear like none she'd ever experienced gripped her. She looked about Muggle London, searching for faces she would recognize. The closer she got to the public toilets, the more people began to make eye contact with her. For as many sympathetic looks as she got, she got just as many nasty ones.

Still, determined to keep her head high, Hermione proceeded into the Ministry, and made her way silently up to her office. When she reached her office, she found that her belongings had yet again been removed from her desk. With a small sigh, she made her way to Kingsley's office to get a better feel for the climate.

When he saw her, he cleared everyone out of his office. His face was visibly more sympathetic than it had been on Friday. Hermione had no idea how to feel about that.

"Well, it seems we have quite a bit to catch up on, don't we?"

Hermione sighed and slumped down in a chair opposite Kinglsey's desk.

"Here's where we stand," Kingsley said. "There will be an inquiry into the… error. As of now, I don't think anyone's losing their job. Thankfully. But, Hermione, a solution is absolutely imperative. Now, we can't expect only you to be working on this, so I've taken the liberty of rounding up a team to work with you on this. A few historians, some retired professors… If we can't fix this, we can't say we didn't try."

Hermione nodded.

"We have taken all of the materials we found at your workstation to a location outside the Ministry. We think that your team needs to be free from… distraction."

"—and you want me away from the general public," Hermione concluded.

"Hermione, I heard about your Howlers. I'm glad it was only just the few, but we think that until everyone here comes to terms with this law, you should be out of range, so to speak."

"I agree," Hermione said. "Judging by half the looks I got this morning, I don't think I would be able to focus here. Did Rita… Did my letter get to you?"

Kingsley looked grave. "Yes, Hermione. Only, I don't know how you knew. Maybe I don't want to know. But it's been taken care of. She's being taken to Azkaban as we speak."

"That explains some of the looks then. So… where am I going?"

"There's a small castle in the Lake District. Not too far from where the school is. You and the team will work from there. You'll have access to all of the materials. You can Apparate daily, or stay as you please."

Hermione sighed and nodded again. She felt tired already. All she wanted to do was go home. She made to stand, but paused.

"Kingsley, has anyone…"

"Refused?" he finished for her. "No. Not yet. I don't know whether to be disappointed or happy about that. If anyone does, I will have an owl find you."

"Thanks, Kingsley. I'm sorry about all of this, I really am."

Kingsley stood and met Hermione by the door. "No, Hermione. I am sorry. But we make the best of what's given to us, don't we?" He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'm standing behind you, Hermione, as are many here at the Ministry. I myself got fifteen Howlers over the weekend."

Hermione gave a breathy laugh.

"It won't be this bad forever. You'll see."

Hermione hoped that after enough time passed in the Lake District, Kingsley might be right… eventually.


	5. Chapter 5

"Here's what we know: the window is six months. Refusal may result in magical abilities being taken away. The marriage must be… consummated," Hermione paused at the word, and sighed. "Before the six month window is up. But we need to know more."

Hermione had taken the liberty of bringing in several chalkboards that lined up, end to end, across one side of the great hall. On the board labeled "KNOW", she wrote those items.

She walked down the stone floor to the next chalkboard, and pointed at it. It was labeled "NEED TO KNOW".

"What do we  _need to know_?" she asked her team.

"What constitutes a refusal?" – someone said aloud, and the question magically appeared on the board in chalk.

"Do both parties lose their magic?"

"What is the age limit of witches and wizards on the list?"

"Why are certain witches and wizards matched?"

" _How do we reverse this_?" The last question was asked more seriously than all the others. Hermione turned around and regarded the speaker. An American wizard, who had been asked by Kingsley Shacklebolt to come and assist the team, sat with his arms crossed, looking at Hermione condescendingly.

His cool demeanor did nothing to comfort Hermione. His very presence had proven to be irksome, as he was constantly reminding the young witch that he thought she was ill-equipped to head this team.

"You all can answer these questions all you like," he said, rising from his heavy oak chair. "But I was brought here for one reason alone." He brushed his sandy brown hair from his face. "I'm a curse breaker, and that's what I intend to do here."

"Right, Vincent, well, we must explore all of these questions in order to gain a better understanding of our task…"

This made him smile derisively. "I'll be in the library. I've got to run a few tests on the artifact…"

He sauntered out of the room, leaving Hermione feeling like a fool.

"Ignore him, Hermione," a rumbly voice called out to her from across the table. Barris Bagshot, great nephew of Bathilda Bagshot, reclined slightly in his chair, looking at the other members of the team, consisting of two retired professors, one curse breaker from the Ministry, and another historian. "Showy American… doesn't understand our ways."

"Thank you, Barris," Hermione said, bashfully. She sat at the table with her peers, ready to discuss the spell. In front of her lay the list in its original form. "I'm going to work on the age question. The rest of you—divvy up the tasks as you see fit. I think everyone should work at their own pace, as long as we all meet on Fridays at noon to write Kingsley's report."

All nodded in agreement and left the table to pursue their own projects.

Barris, a thirty-year-old historian who had followed in his great-aunt's footsteps, came to sit next to Hermione. He too was a bachelor, and his own name had appeared on the list. Over the past few days, he had proved to be a wonderful second-in-command to Hermione's task. He anticipated her thoughts and predicted where she was going with them.

"So," he said, taking half the stack of names. "Age."

"Right," Hermione said, pulling out fresh parchment to start a chart. "I think we should start by finding the oldest of the individuals. We know the youngest are seventeen." Hermione swallowed. "Then, for posterity's sake… we provide a ranking of the largest age gaps."

Barris's eyes glittered. "You know it's yours, right?"

Hermione remained quiet a moment, scratching at the parchment with her quill. "Yes. Thank Merlin."

"I can think of worse," Barris said. "You could be marrying Elphias Doge." A boyish grin spread across his face. Hermione shot him a serious look that soon morphed into a small, sad grin.

"That would give the Prophet something to talk about," Hermione said.

"Nah, I don't think Luna would write anything that personal about you," Barris concluded.

Hermione sighed. Luna. She hadn't yet spoken to her. Her article had been almost infuriatingly neutral. Why did she have to be so damned professional? She could have sent Hermione a Howler. She would have at least understood that.

"How is Luna taking her match? Do you know?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I… haven't heard from anyone back home yet."

Barris sighed. "That's not true and you know it."

The pile of letters addressed to Hermione had been mounting up over the past week. She had been in the Lake District almost two weeks now, and had yet to write back any of her friends who had sent her owls.

"I just… I am scared to face any of them."

"That's lucky, because the last I checked, you can't put a person in an envelope."

Hermione shot him a glance. "I know. I'm just sure that they'll have written that they want to see me, and I can't refuse a friend. It's just not physically possible for me."

Barris put a hand on Hermione's knee and patted it. "Start with one. One person at a time."

"The list, or my letters?" Hermione breathed, rubbing at her temples. Barris chuckled, and rose from the table, leaving Hermione to her own thoughts.

* * *

Hermione had sorted the letters by writer. There was a stack from Harry—by far, her largest—a stack from Ginny, a small stack from Sirius, a small stack from Luna, and one lonely letter from Ron. Considering what the letters might contain, Hermione arranged them by difficulty—Ron's being the hardest to open, second were Sirius's, then Luna, Ginny, and Harry.

Deciding to start with the easiest, she opened the first from Harry:

_Dear Hermione,_

_How's work in the Lake District? I heard some names from Percy—you've got a good group on your hands up there. I don't doubt they'll be a great help._

_When I spoke with Percy, he looked just awful. Seems to be beating himself up pretty badly. While we were talking, he told me that Kingsley said you didn't have to stay up there in the Lake District the whole time. I do wish you would consider our offer, Sirius and mine._

_At the very least, just write me back as soon as you can. Lots to talk about. Did you see who Padma was paired with? Katie Bell. That can't be right, can it?—_

Hermione's brow furrowed. Padma with Katie? Harry had the right idea—that couldn't be right. Had she glossed over the list that carelessly? Did she miss something? She made a note to herself to go over the list more carefully after she read her letters.

_Anyway, I've written to Luna, and she hasn't seen Padma since the list came out. Luna says she's written to you, and you're not answering. I think she thinks you're afraid to talk to her. Just read the letters, won't you?_

_Write soon,_

_Harry_

Hermione read the rest of Harry's letters. It seemed that Harry was skirting around telling Hermione exactly how anyone but he was feeling. Hermione didn't blame him—she didn't like being treated like an owl either.

With Harry's finished, she opened the letters from Ginny. All of Ginny's letters were concerned with how Hermione was doing. She told Hermione that Mrs. Weasley was torn up over Ron and Hermione not being paired, but said nothing of Ron.

Opening Luna's letters was difficult. After the first, though, the rest were easy:

_Dear Hermione,_

_I want you to know that I'm not angry at you. Neither are a lot of us from school. Harry says you're being much too hard on yourself, and I quite agree._

Hermione smiled—she could practically hear Luna's dreamy voice narrating the letter in her head.

_I had quite hoped that I would be paired with Neville, but I have a feeling there is some method to why the Founders' spell was written this way. I have written to Draco, and we have agreed to meet for tea in London. I will let you know how it goes._

_Write soon,_

_Luna_

Hermione smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. Luna wasn't mad. She was taking this so gracefully. And the fact that there were others who weren't mad at her made her hopeful. She opened the second letter from Luna.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Tea with Draco was quite nice. I think you would have enjoyed being a fly on the wall during our conversation. He was so nervous that he nearly spilled his tea._

_Then, after quite a long silence, he told me that Voldemort being defeated was the best thing that's ever happened to him. He said that as a man he will not flee from his duty, and would like to get to know me a little more. Of course we both agreed that we should wait a while to see the outcome of your research—please don't feel pressured!—but we figure there's a reason the two of us were paired, if we can't get out of this._

_We are waiting, but there are others who haven't. Did you hear? Padma and Katie Bell are already married. It came as quite a shock, but Padma confessed to me last night that she always knew that about herself, deep down. They seem quite happy, Hermione._

_Please write soon._

_Love,_

_Luna_

Hermione sat a moment with a hand over her mouth, smiling so widely that her cheeks began to hurt. So the list wasn't a mistake. Putting Luna's letters aside, she pulled  _The Daily Prophet_  list in front of herself, and found Padma's name—and sure enough, next to it was Katie's. Going through the list, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find a few more same-sex pairings. She hoped that it wasn't much of a shock to those couples.

That made her think more about Luna's pairing. Was it so hard to consider that the Founders' spell may have chosen the best person for every witch and wizard, owing of course that a pure-blood be with someone who wasn't pure-blood? What did that say about her own pairing with Sirius?

At the mere thought of his name, Hermione's stomach gave a small lurch. She didn't want to allow herself to get carried away. And then, just as soon, she felt guilty. Ron. Ron's single, lonely letter.

Wishing to get it over with, Hermione tore the letter open.

_Hermione,_

_I don't know what to say. I've thought about a million things, but can't decide on anything. I know really that it wasn't your fault. It's bloody Percy and Kingsley's fault before it's yours. But I can't help but be angry._

_It took us years to get to where we are—were—and then suddenly we're not. This isn't like an arranged marriage, and we can just run off and be together. If I want to be with you, I have to give up being a wizard. I love you, Hermione, but I just don't think I can do that._

Hermione put the letter down. Shaking a moment, she let herself cry a few tears. Still crying, she returned to the rest of the letter.

_There must be a reason we weren't paired. My family is Pure-Blood, and you're Muggle Born. Should be perfect, right? I love you Hermione, but maybe our love is just a little stronger than best friends, but not strong enough for soul mates. I can accept that._

_What I can't accept, Hermione, is Sirius Black taking my place. Sirius Black's hands on you. Frankly, Hermione, I don't think I could handle anyone's hands on you. But especially not his._

_I don't know where this puts us. But I don't think I can talk to you for a while. If you can fix this, there might be hope for us. But if you can't, I'm meeting with Cho Chang soon (she's my match—have you even bothered to check?). There are others proceeding with engagement plans. Too afraid to lose their magic, I suspect._

_Don't write until you have the news I hope you can give me._

_Ron_

Hermione flung the letter to the floor. It was just like Ron to be possessive and an all-around git. And what about how Hermione felt about Cho being Ron's match? He was right—she had willfully avoided looking for Ron's name, but found it three days after the list came out, and confirmed that Cho was to be Ron's.

The thought of another girl with Ron did make her sad, but not angry. She had never felt possessive of Ron. Seeing him with Lavender made her hurt so much, and losing him when they were looking for Horcruxes hurt even more. But nothing compared to how he was acting now. Hermione thought briefly about Harry and Ron's relationship, and how this had affected them. The thought that the two of them were fighting because of this made her feel worse.

Unable to take it anymore, Hermione stopped reading letters. She looked at all the letters she had opened, and stacked them (even Ron's) neatly. There was just one pile she had not opened—Sirius's.

She swallowed and turned each envelope over. Each bore his elegant handwriting. Her stomach flipped when she considered what they might contain. She wanted desperately to return to stay with Sirius and Harry, but she couldn't do that without reading Sirius's letters.

Having made up her mind, she turned the first over to break the wax seal on the back, which bore the Black family crest. Before she had a chance to, her door burst open unexpectedly. She whipped around to find Barris standing there with a copy of  _The Daily Prophet_  in his clutches.

He was clearly out of breath, but was able to get out what he wanted.

"Someone refused the law. It works.  _Both parties_ … it works."


	6. Chapter 6

"Who?" Hermione dropped the letters in her hands onto her bed on the second floor of the Lake District castle.

Barris had finally caught his breath. "Marietta Edgecombe. And Cormac McLaggen."

Hermione swallowed and gripped one of the wooden pillars of her four poster bed. She had no special love for Marietta Edgecombe and Cormac McLaggen. Marietta had given away details of Dumbledore's Army to Umbridge, and Cormac McLaggen was a self-important Pure-Blood wizard who had harassed Hermione horribly, resulting in an evening at a Slug Club dinner she'd rather forget. Still, she couldn't help but feel badly for both of them, losing their magic.

"Which one of them refused?"

"Cormac. Seems he was in love with someone else, and the idea of not being with her was just too much for him to handle." This made Hermione feel even worse. He was willing to risk losing his magic just to be with the girl he loved.

Hermione looked at her watch. It was six in the evening, Friday afternoon. Her report for the week had already gone out to Kingsley, and something told her this couldn't wait until next week's report.

"Has the rest of the team retired for the evening?"

"I'm the only one in the castle. Everyone went home."

Hermione chewed the inside of her lip. It was August, and the weather had not turned cold yet. Of course everyone went home to be with their families. Hermione was the only one hoping to escape contact with anyone who cared about her. She had hoped to avoid returning home before September, but now it appeared that was just not possible.

"Alright. I have to go to London then."

"Control your excitement, Hermione," Barris said with a breathy chuckle.

She shot him a knowing glance. He knew her predicament.

"Better to get it over with, wouldn't you say?" he asked. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, and left Hermione.

With her heart pounding, Hermione packed her bag, and considered where she would go. Crookshanks would hate to be moved around too much. He had been disappearing most nights and returning a few days later, his stomach full of mice or small birds. Hermione filled his food bowl and decided that she wouldn't be gone long enough for him to miss her.

With her bag over her shoulder, Hermione took a pinch of Floo powder and called out the address to her own flat in London.

* * *

Sirius sat restlessly at the desk in the master suite of the Black family home. He had written Hermione two letters now, and neither of them had been answered. As a matter of fact, none of the letters anyone was writing Hermione had gone answered. He had begun to worry about her, but respected the fact that she was working.

The last thing he wanted to do was distract the girl. Or frighten her. Had he been wrong in interpreting Hermione's words and body language? Was she thinking of refusing him? Had she found a solution? Was the thought of marrying a thirty-eight year old man so repulsive to her?

He wouldn't blame the girl if it was. What did he have to offer such a bright and intelligent young witch besides an empty, old house, and maybe a Gringott's vault full of gold? He knew Hermione didn't care about the Black family inheritance. Still, he worried for her.

In the time that followed the list's publication, Sirius had learned that many of the people on the list were already planning engagements. He had received no fewer than five invitations to weddings. Harry had simply tossed his own across the kitchen table to Sirius.

"You're going to be a groomsman, and Ginny will have no refusal," Harry had told him one afternoon over tea.

Sirius opened the invitation. His eyes bulged, and he looked at Harry. "September eighteenth? Harry, this is so soon!"

Harry chortled. "So's the deadline. In any case, Ginny wanted it on this date. So she's told me, all the good dates are getting booked up by other girls on the list, and she wants people to RSVP yes to ours before they can RSVP yes to anyone else's. Plus, she's taking her NEWTs in Grasmere this year, so we are a little low on options."

Sirius nodded in understanding. "Groomsmen…" Sirius sighed. "Are you sure that's how you want me there?"

"Ron's my best man. Despite him being a prat lately, he's always had that job… And you're my family, Sirius."

Sirius cleared his throat. Suddenly he was feeling very overcome, and hoped to distract Harry's attention.

"Her birthday's on the nineteenth, you know," Harry had said, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Ginny's?" Sirius asked blankly.

"No, Hermione's. The day after Ginny and I get married. It's Hermione's birthday." Harry's eyes glittered a moment. "Thought you ought to know."

"Oh," Sirius said, scratching at the back of his neck. He hadn't really talked to Harry about Hermione yet. The two of them both danced around the subject every time it came up, always directing attention on Harry and Ginny.

"No word yet?"

"None."

So there Sirius sat, several crumpled up pieces of parchment on the ground by the bin. Each of them only said "Dear Hermione" and yet he still felt that he had to crumple each and every one of them.

Two weeks. Two weeks and no answer. He knew that she had no obligation to him, but most of the people who had showed up on the list were already at least talking with their match. He knew Hermione would eventually respond, but not knowing what her response would be was killing him.

He had penned the first letter a few nights after she left.

_Hermione,_

_Harry and I are getting on fine here at Grimmauld Place. Harry's told me a little of what it's like at the Ministry right now, and it sounds like no one can quite agree on where blame lies. So don't fret so much._

_I didn't quite get a chance to speak with you about what's happened on a more personal level. I think it might be easier to put to pen to tell you the truth._

_If we should find ourselves looking at the reality of this being permanent, I want you to know a few things. I would never assume to take advantage of a young woman as young as you are under normal circumstances. I have come to care for you deeply in the past few years. I feel very protective of you. And that's what I hope to do, if this is something we cannot escape. I will protect you from those who would seek to attack you for this happening. I will protect you from the inevitable negative remarks at our age difference. I will protect you from any danger that meets you._

_Best,_

_Sirius_

* * *

She sat on her couch holding the two letters addressed in Sirius's hand. She had sent an owl to Kingsley first and foremost, letting him know that she was back in London. When that was done, she willed herself to break the seal on the first letter.

When she read it, she couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling in her stomach.

_… I feel very protective of you…_

_… under normal circumstances…_

Her eyebrows knit together. It wasn't exactly a declaration to make her weak in the knees. Still, what could she have expected? She was being silly. This was just as much of a shock to Sirius as it was to her. But, she couldn't help but be a little crestfallen at Sirius's choice of words.

Hermione breathed a small sigh, and broke the seal of the other letter. With much less anticipation, she read the letter.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Harry and the others have not been able to reach you, and it has been a week since my owl reached you. I have no doubt you are busy, but we all are worried._

_I have dissected the letter I sent you in a million different ways. I wrote the letter at least ten times, and still it didn't sound right. I'm afraid when it comes to this, I have no idea what to say._

_I will close with this: please come to Grimmauld Place and stay with us. You are missed. You_ _ are _ _wanted, even if you have told yourself you are not._

_Yours,_

_Sirius_

Hermione's heartbeat skipped a little. She was wanted, whatever that meant. And the way he had signed the letter…

She shook the feeling from her mind. She grumbled aloud, hating the unsure feeling she had growing in the pit of her stomach.

Setting the letter down on the cushion beside her, Hermione rubbed at her tired eyes. Staring at texts all day the past few weeks had given her a headache that hadn't gone away. All she wanted to do was to lie down and sleep, but a line in Sirius's letter kept her frozen in her seat.

_… Please come to Grimmauld Place…_

Was that a conditional invitation? Had it expired? What would he say if she simply Flooed into the house?

Before she could give much thought to going to Grimmauld Place, a crackling in her fireplace nearly sent her a foot in the air.

"Hermione!" a voice called from the embers. Hermione looked over and found a face illuminated in red embers, suspended amongst the logs. It was Kingsley.

"Merlin's beard, Kingsley!" Hermione held her hand to her chest.

"I'm sorry Hermione, but I got your owl and wanted to speak with you before the hour got too late."

Hermione swallowed and knelt down in front of the fireplace.

"So…" she started. "We know it works now, don't we?"

Kingsley's glowing face looked grave. "Yes. I think that this is all becoming more real to everyone now that the news has started to spread. Luna has agreed to omit their names in her article. Cormac is standing by his decision, bless the boy."

"Wow," Hermione mused. "I didn't see that from Cormac."

"The two of them will be staying with their families, but we are hoping…"

"What?"

"Hermione, is it too much to hope that their magic may be returned to them?"

Hermione ran her hands through her mane of curly hair and pulled it to one side. She sighed and said, "Kingsley, I can't promise that. We haven't gotten anywhere in understanding how the spell even works. We are just working on understanding the parameters… Please don't tell anyone that we're working on this. If we fail, I don't think I'll ever be able to live a normal life in wizarding England."

"I agree, Hermione," Kingsley said. "I just thought I would ask. Keep up the good work."

Hermione nodded.

"Come into the office on Monday, why don't you? You can talk to everyone in the office. They are all rooting for you."

"Sure, Kingsley," she said, suddenly realizing how tired she was.

As soon as Kingsley had said his goodbye, and his face disappeared from her fireplace grate, Hermione went to her kitchen and opened a bottle of wine.

Using a Muggle corkscrew, Hermione got lost in the task. She had no idea if she was even going to be able to make it through one glass she was so tired. It still sounded like the best thing in the world to her, so with a modest glass of red, she collapsed on her couch, pulling her knees up to her chest.

Wetting her finger on her tongue, Hermione drew it around the crystal glass rim, making the glass sing.

She looked at the magical clock on her bookshelf. It was bewitched to show the outside weather conditions, much like the ceiling in the great hall at Hogwarts. In front of the clear stars that shone in the cloche jar, the time read eight o'clock.

Frozen with indecision, Hermione told herself after she finished her glass of wine she would make her mind up. The bottom of the glass showed its face, and again, Hermione stalled, pouring herself a second glass, and when its face appeared as well, she set the glass down on the hard wood floor and stalled another five minutes.

Soon, Hermione was sleeping, and she stretched out over the deep, rich leather couch. After two weeks of working fifteen hour days, the emotional stress she was placing upon herself, and her two glasses of wine, Hermione was in such a deep sleep that she didn't stir when her fireplace erupted in green Floo flames.

Upon stepping through, Sirius immediately found her petite frame on the couch. She looked so tired and worn out, Sirius tutted his disapproval. He walked to Hermione's couch, making sure to quiet his footsteps as much as possible, and knelt in front of her.

In front of the sleeping Gryffindor girl, Sirius regarded her a moment. He hadn't allowed himself to look at Hermione in any other way but that of a mentor or uncle figure prior to this whole debacle. But there, with her hair splayed out above her, and her breath coming in short, gentle bursts, Sirius finally allowed himself to see her as she truly was: beautiful.

Her wild hair only added to her charm. In the light of the fire, Sirius made out the gentle curve of her forehead, her cheekbones, and her lips.

He felt guilty, a man of thirty-eight, looking at her thus. He felt a little like Hermione had been given the raw deal. Wrongfully accused of murdering his best friends and thirteen bystanders, Sirius had spent twelve years in Azkaban prison. He had no employment—not that he needed it with the vast wealth of the Black estate—no real purpose. And here was a girl who lived and breathed purpose.

Sirius knew this girl would one day be Minister of Magic. He told himself he didn't deserve her, but he knew that if they did indeed marry, he would work every day to earn her respect and love.

With a sigh, Sirius put his hand on Hermione's hair and smoothed it back. She opened her eyes slowly, waking under his touch.

Realization dawned on her when she made out Sirius's face. She didn't speak for a moment, but held his grey gaze. When the silence was too much for her, Hermione pushed herself into a seated position.

"Sirius," she said in slight surprise, looking him up and down. She hadn't seen him dressed so informally ever before. He wore Muggle jeans and a blue cashmere jumper.

"Kingsley told Harry you were back. When you didn't show at Grimmauld Place, I thought I'd check on you," he said with a warm smile.

"I… must have fallen asleep," she said, making excuses for herself. "I meant to come, but I didn't know if it was too late."

Sirius shook his head. "Never too late. I didn't mean to wake you. I can leave if you like."

Hermione pressed her lips together a moment and regarded Sirius, who stood waiting for her decision.

"My bag is just over there," she said, pointing to her dragon hide travel bag. Sirius smiled and grabbed the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, and entered Hermione's fireplace, calling out his own address. With her heart racing, Hermione did the same.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace and into the parlor of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, brushing ash from her jeans. She looked about the parlor and found that Sirius was already headed upstairs with Hermione's bag. With a small blush, Hermione tucked her hair behind her ears and followed Sirius to her room.

At the end of the hallway, Hermione watched as Sirius set her bag down at the foot of the four poster bed she had called hers ever since the Order of the Phoenix started using the house as headquarters. The two shared a loaded silence until Sirius approached Hermione in the doorway.

He regarded her a moment, standing there with her arms crossed over her chest. He hadn't ever seen Hermione so uncomfortable before.

"Tea?" Sirius asked hopefully. "Or something stronger?"

"Something stronger, I think," Hermione said in a small voice.

Sirius led the way back to the parlor, where he paused over the service table. "Firewhiskey or wine?"

Hermione sat on one of the velvet couches and sandwiched her hands between her knees. "Whatever you're having," she said.

With two glasses of red wine in his hands, Sirius approached Hermione and sat beside her. She took the glass, and before she had a chance to bring it to her lips, Sirius raised his. Silently, Hermione did the same, and the two drank in a silent toast. To what, Hermione could only guess.

"Well, this is just about as awkward as a hippogriff trying to ice skate, isn't it?" Sirius noted dryly.

Hermione chuckled despite herself. "Yes, I should say so." After taking another drink, Hermione decided to break the ice. "I wanted to apologize for not responding to your owls. To everyone's really… I was just so afraid everyone was livid with me that I didn't want to face them. Escaping to the Lake District seemed like the answer at the time…"

"Where are you? Out there?" Sirius prompted.

"Er… Windermere. Wray Castle. Not too far from where they have the Hogwarts students set up in Grasmere."

"Beautiful place, the Lake District," Sirius said.

Hermione nodded and drank to give herself something to do.

"How is the research going?" Sirius asked. He was hoping to find a way to discuss the Founders' spell without bombarding Hermione straight away.

Hermione gave a heavy sigh. "Not well. There's just so much pressure, and we are doing all we can. Sirius, I don't think… I don't think I can reverse this. I'm only one witch. I'm no Dumbledore. My colleagues are brilliant, but this is old magic."

"Hermione, if anyone can solve this, it's you. But… many people are proceeding as if this  _won't_  be solved…"

Hermione smiled ironically into her glass. "So I've heard. I got Harry's invitation yesterday."

"Do you… think everyone will forgive me?"

"For what?"

"Not responding."

Sirius chuckled. "Of course, Hermione. But you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"You're right, I know that," Hermione said, running her fingers through her hair, gripping it lightly at the root. "I've cried more in the last two weeks than I care to admit. I'm just so tired of it, Sirius."

Sirius's heart fell. "Now  _that_  we can't have, Hermione."

Hermione steadied her breath. Her heart was racing. If she didn't say it now, she wasn't sure she would ever have the courage. "I loved Ron. Everything was going so well up until that spell was found. And then it happened and… I didn't think everything would come crumbling down so quickly. I know I should say I am surprised Ron reacted that way, but I can't really say that I am. Ron and I… it just never came easy."

Sirius remained silent, allowing Hermione to pour her heart out.

"I think if we had been allowed to continue, it would have just been a struggle. But for me to go from loving Ron… or  _thinking_  I loved Ron… to allowing myself to plan a future with my best friend's godfather… It's confusing, Sirius."

"I know, Hermione," Sirius said, finally speaking. "Believe me, I am struggling with this as well. I haven't allowed myself to look at you in that way before, but now that we're faced with this, well, it's something I have to do now, isn't it?"

"Does it bother you?" Hermione asked, hoping she didn't betray herself by showing that she actually might care what he said.

"What?"

"My age."

Sirius was quiet a moment, and drank the red vintage wine from his cellar. "No, not me personally. It bothers me what others might say. Molly Weasley gave me an earful, that much is sure."

Hermione groaned and put her hand over her face. She knew that she would have to face the Weasleys soon enough.

"But… I assured Molly that I wasn't in collusion with the Founders," Sirius chuckled. He paused. "Does it bother you?" He spoke directly into his glass, unable to watch Hermione's face.

Her heart beat even faster. She would have to start making admissions to not only herself, but to Sirius. Her mouth felt so dry, she wasn't sure she heard herself when she responded. "No. I think what bothers me is how much I  _don't_  care, Sirius."

The two looked each other in the eye and held their gaze upon each other. It was as if they were seeing each other, truly  _seeing_  each other, for the first time.

"I'm going to continue the task Kingsley set forth for me, Sirius, but I will admit to you that I think it's a fool's errand. I think we would be fools to not do as others are doing."

"Tell me what you want, Hermione," Sirius said gently. He wanted Hermione to come to this of her own accord.

She took a steadying breath. "I think it's time that I really got to know you. Not just as my best friend's godfather. But the man. That's a start."

"I would like that very much, Hermione," Sirius felt his face widen in an involuntary smile. Hermione's did the same. She looked down at her glass of wine.

Suddenly, feeling very bold, Sirius reached over to Hermione's free hand, still wedged between her knees, and pulled it into his. It felt as if time stood still while Sirius's fingers knit between Hermione's. He considered how small her hand felt in his, and he admired her long, slender fingers. Feeling her nervousness, Sirius brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it gently in a sign of comfort.

Hermione smiled even wider, and opened her mouth to speak. Before she had a chance to say anything, the front door opened, and Harry crossed over the threshold, talking to someone who was trailing behind him. In his arms he carried three boxes, wide and white. Just as he turned the corner and entered the parlor, he stopped dead at the sight before him.

He suppressed a large grin, and looked back at Ginny, who trailed him. She too carried large white boxes. Her reaction to what was in the parlor was exactly as Harry's was.

Hermione looked up at her two friends in shock, and stood, breaking her contact with Sirius.

"Hermione!" Ginny said, her voice full of elation and relief. Setting the white boxes down on the ground, she bolted forward and nearly collided with her best friend, who struggled to keep her glass of wine from spilling. As if anticipating her need, Sirius took the glass from Hermione, allowing for the two girls to hug each other so fiercely it looked as if neither had seen the other for several years.

"Ginny," Hermione said quietly. "I am so sorry for not owling you back."

Ginny let Hermione out of her crushing hug and backed up to look at her friend. "Nonsense, Hermione. You've had so much on your shoulders, we can't begin to understand the pressure…"

"Hi, 'Mione," Harry said, smiling and exchanging a secret glance with Sirius.

"Hi Harry," Hermione said meekly, letting Ginny go. Ginny watched the two of them, and grabbed Harry's boxes.

"Go on then," she said, and Harry and Hermione gave each other a much less fierce, but just as meaningful hug.

"Sorry," Hermione said simply, tucking her hair behind her ears. Harry shook his head and winked at his best friend as a sign of goodwill.

"What are the boxes?" Sirius asked, feeling very out of place.

"Ah!" Ginny said, smiling broadly. "Dress robes. Harry's, mine, yours and Hermione's. Ron and Fleur's as well…"

"Mine?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, you dolt, you're my maid of honor," Ginny said with a small chuckle. "Thought you'd have figured that out by now. I took the liberty of ordering yours—you were always about my size anyway, and mum can alter it if we have to."

"Oh," Hermione slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "Your mum… She's alright with me, you know, being there?"

"Are you kidding, Hermione?" Ginny asked, picking up her boxes and setting them on the large, wide coffee table. "Mum and dad love you."

"Ginny, maybe…" Hermione looked from Sirius to Harry. "Kitchen, yeah?"

With a nod, Ginny and Hermione both skulked off to the kitchen to talk without either Harry or Sirius listening.

When the door had closed, and they were sure neither of the men were listening, Hermione spoke.

"Ginny, Sirius said your mum gave him quite a piece of her mind. And Ron," she ran her hands through her hair and clasped them behind her neck. "Ron doesn't want anything to do with me unless I fix this whole mess."

Ginny huffed and rolled her eyes. "Mum did give him quite the talk, but Hermione, it wasn't what you think. She was only trying to tell Sirius how he needs to… you know, be good to you."

Hermione's face fell. "Oh." A pause. "And Ron…?"

Ginny bit her lip. "I won't lie, Hermione, it's not good. Ron and Harry had quite a row about you being at the wedding. But I told Ron to get his great big head out of his arse."

"Ginny, Ron's Harry's best man… Won't that be terribly awkward for us?"

Ginny cocked her hip out. "Not if I have anything to say about it. He knows this is for Harry and me."

Hermione shook her head and crossed her arms over her waist. "It's not like I  _chose_  Sirius, Ginny," Hermione's voice was pleading, hoping that in saying the words, Ron might somehow hear them and see reason. "I was just as surprised as everyone else. I love Ron… But if this is what I have to do, then I'm doing it. And so many people have said this to me these two weeks… what if the Founders' spell worked for a reason? What if Ron and I just weren't compatible?"

"Oh, Hermione, I know that you didn't want this to happen," Ginny rubbed Hermione's arms comfortingly. "And Ron will see that too. Just give him time. Yeah?"

Hermione chewed her lip a moment and nodded.

"Good," Ginny said firmly. "Now you can try your dress on.  _And see mine_." She grabbed Hermione's hand firmly, and led her out of the kitchen and into the parlor, where she strode past Sirius and Harry, who sat very closely together on a couch.

"Excuse us gentlemen," Ginny said, grabbing up the top two boxes, and turning with Hermione's hand still in hers. "Got dresses to try on. We'll be in Hermione's room. And  _don't_  come upstairs, no matter what." Her eyes glittered playfully.

Hermione caught Sirius's eye just before she had risen too far in the stairwell. Hermione thought for just a second that he was smiling.

* * *

Harry and Sirius sat dumbstruck on the couch in the parlor, listening to the quite murmur of the girls' voices from upstairs.

"I thought Ginny was in Grasmere," Sirius said simply, returning to his half empty glass of wine.

"McGonagall gave her leave for the weekend. Planning. All the other seventh year girls will get the same."

Sirius sighed and set his glass down. He rubbed his temples. "So young," he said with disbelief, "it shouldn't be this way."

"My mum and dad weren't much older than me when they got married," Harry said thoughtfully, hoping Sirius wasn't beating himself up too badly.

"No, they weren't," Sirius allowed. "But Harry, there was a war happening when I was your age. When the Founders wrote that spell, it was the tenth century. Things have changed quite a bit since then."

Harry squeezed his godfather's shoulder reassuringly. "She's not refusing you, Sirius."

Sirius was quiet a moment. "I know."

Harry kicked his feet onto the table and leaned back. "Did you ask her?"

"Ask her what, Harry?" Sirius looked at his godson incredulously.

Harry's eyebrows lifted a moment. "How she feels. About you, all of this… That  _was_  what you were discussing, wasn't it?"

Sirius sighed. His godson was sometimes too bright for his own good. "We were getting there. I think she is at least open to the  _idea_  of me." Sirius punctuated the news with a smile.

Harry smiled a knowing smile. "And knowing Hermione, I'd say she's more than open to the idea. You'll have to learn how to speak 'Hermione.'"

Sirius chuckled. "I think I'm at a clear disadvantage. Any tips?"

Harry stood up and looked his godfather over. "Yeah. Don't let her close herself off. Ron and I were… not always the best to her. We let her punish herself for things  _we_  did wrong. She's tough. I wouldn't have defeated Voldemort without her. She's tough because she's  _had_  to be."

Sirius nodded to Harry, and watched as he ascended the stairwell to check on Hermione and Ginny.

* * *

Hermione and Ginny stood in their dresses, doing half twirls in front of the large floor length gilded mirror in Hermione's room. Ginny had picked bridesmaids dresses of rich oxblood red in satin. The silhouette was very draped, with the back plunging almost down to the base of Hermione's spine.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at the dress she very clearly was not accustomed to wearing.

"Er, Ginny?" Hermione asked, looking over at her friend in her chiffon gown.

"Yes?" Ginny asked, completely distracted by her own reflection, and how she looked in her wedding gown.

"Are you sure this is, er… enough fabric?"

Ginny snickered. "It looks stunning on you, and you know it. At the very least, everyone else will think so. Plus, I'm the one getting married, so you have to wear what I say."

Hermione did another half twirl and looked at the front of the gown. Why couldn't the back share some of the fabric with the front?

"I don't know, Gin," Hermione said, smoothing her hands over her midsection. "I'm not used to wearing anything like this."

"Trust me, Hermoine," Ginny said, taking Hermione's hands. "If you hate it, we can change it, but  _please_  trust me."

One look in Ginny's eyes, and Hermione knew she was going to lose this fight.

Suddenly, a knock at the door broke their concentration. Harry's voice came from the other end.

"You two!" He said. "Are you close to done?"

"In a minute!" Ginny said, ducking behind a dressing screen. In a moment, she was hopping back into her Muggle jeans and throwing a jumper on. Hermione did the same, and allowing Ginny time to magic the gowns back into their garment boxes, Hermione poked her head through a small crack in the opened door.

"Yes?" Hermione asked, looking from Harry to Sirius.

"Er—" Harry cleared his throat. "I've got to have Ginny back to the Burrow in a few minutes or Molly will have my hide."

Ginny opened the door the rest of the way, both boxes in hand. "Right," she said, sweeping past Hermione. "See you tomorrow then." Ginny winked at Hermione as she quickly clopped down the stairwell.

Harry pointed in Ginny's direction, and Hermione nodded her understanding, leaving Sirius and Hermione standing in the doorway silently.

Hermione swallowed nervously and pulled the rest of her hair out of her jumper. She smiled cordially at Sirius.

"It is getting rather late," Sirius said. "I'll let you get to sleep soon, but I just wanted to ask, before you went to bed…" He looked at Hermione, who he noticed for the first time in a long time had a resting smile on her face, and thought that her visit with Ginny must have done her an enormous amount of good. "Would you allow me to take you somewhere tomorrow? Since you're here until Monday it seems. I thought we could start with the basics."

Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear. "Yes, I think that would be nice."

"Alright." Sirius smiled. "Get some rest then. See you in the morning."

With a significant amount of color rising to her cheeks, Hermione shut the door, and walked to her bed as if on a cloud. Several minutes later, lying in her bed at Grimmauld Place, she realized she couldn't think of anywhere she would rather be than here. Two rooms away, Sirius Black was thinking the same thing.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione had no intention of sleeping as late as she did. Normally she was an early riser, even on weekends. But under the safe canopy of her bed in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Hermione found much needed peace and solace. When she finally woke in the late morning, she struggled to clear her foggy eyes.

With heavy sighs, and even heavier feet, Hermione shuffled from her room to the bathroom across the hallway in her long sleeved pajama top and bottom. With her hair messy from sleep, she tied it in a knot and splashed warm water on her face. Mopping her face with a white hand towel, Hermione looked at her reflection. For a moment she considered her appearance, and thought she should do something to herself before she braved the kitchen downstairs.

Too tired to consider her options, Hermione padded downstairs just as she was—barefoot, still in pajamas and hair a mess. Picking at her nails, she timidly made her way into the kitchen, looking for Sirius. When she found him, she instantly regretted her decision not to dress.

Sirius was already in trousers, a knit shirt and a black blazer. He seemed to be less formally dressed than usual, which would have made Hermione turn right around and bolt upstairs for at least a cardigan. Having drawn his attention, it was too late to turn back, so Hermione sheepishly walked to the kitchen table and sat opposite of Sirius.

Folding his Daily Prophet and setting it next to his tea, Sirius smiled at Hermione.

"Sleep well I trust?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, thank you. I don't normally sleep that late."

"You must have needed it."

Hermione closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead slightly, still not awake, and was startled by a clanging sound that came from in front of her. Before her was a cup of steaming hot tea, which had a fair bit of tea sloshing around in its saucer as well. Kreacher, the angry, disgruntled and brainwashed Black family house elf, had put tea before Hermione.

He walked away grumbling and moaning, but said not a word.

Hermione watched him as he left the kitchen. She waited for the inevitable slip of "Mudblood" or "Blood traitor," but neither came.

"That was awfully… unlike Kreacher," Hermione mused, pouring a bit of milk into her tea.

Sirius scratched at his jaw. "Yes, well, I've forbidden him to say anything to you that could be mistaken as an insult."

Hermione took a sip of her tea, and looked at it suspiciously.

Sirius's eyes lit up. "I've taken great pains to forbid him from doing a great many things, Hermione."

Hermione laughed despite the gravity of what she had first assumed. It wouldn't have been uncharacteristic for Kreacher to have poisoned her tea, or at the very least slipped a bug into her cup.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked, looking around the kitchen for evidence of Harry's presence.

"Burrow," Sirius said simply. "Planning." Hermione nodded in understanding.

Sirius, in anticipation of Hermione's needs after tea, summoned a tray from the counter with his wand. It settled just in front of her, and she thanked him.

"I could have gotten it," she said, spreading marmalade on a piece of toast.

Sirius waved away her protestation, adding, "Hermione, I was unable to use a wand for twelve years. I allow myself some shortcuts every now and then."

Hermione nodded and settled into her modest breakfast of toast.

With a heavy sigh, Sirius pushed past the morning pleasantries. "Well, you'll want to be dressed soon, as I'm fairly sure where I'm taking you, a matching pajama set will garner quite a few looks."

Hermione clutched at the sleeves of her top, and planted her hands in her lap. "And… where are you taking me?"

Sirius smirked into his tea, and paused a moment to drink the last of it before standing. "Dress comfortably. That's all I'll say."

He walked past Hermione and paused at the entrance to the kitchen. "I'll just ready a few things, and we can be off soon. I'll be waiting in the library."

Hermione rushed to finish her breakfast and headed up the stairs, reminding herself not to go up the stairs too quickly, lest Sirius think that she was some silly girl, unable to control herself. Before long, Hermione had dressed in jeans and a baggy cardigan she had borrowed from her father.

With her hair still wet, Hermione gave up on conventional methods and pointed her wand at it to speed its drying. Throwing it into a ponytail, she checked herself one more time in the mirror before heading down the stairs. When she found Sirius in the library, he seemed lost in a book. His hand rested pensively on his chin. Hermione watched him a moment, unsure how to break his concentration. She stepped forward into his line of sight.

Sirius looked up from his book thoughtfully and closed it with a smile. He opened a canvas bag that sat at his feet and dropped it inside.

"Ready?" He asked, slinging the bag strap over his torso.

Hermione nodded. She walked towards the fireplace, looking for the earthenware Floo powder pot.

"We won't be Flooing anywhere," Sirius said, cocking his head towards the front door. Hermione's puzzled look made him smile even broader. "We won't be Disapparating anywhere either."

She followed him with a small measure of apprehension.

When the both of them had left the house and stood on the front stoop of the Grimmauld Place house, Hermione saw their mode of transportation: a motorcycle, decked all in black. Hermione swallowed involuntarily.

"Sirius, are we…?"

"Taking that? Yes, Hermione, we are," he said brightly. He very nearly hopped down each step and paused at the side of the bike. He held out a helmet for Hermione, who accepted it reluctantly.

Hermione bit her lip, and watched as Sirius slung his leg over the bike. He wore no helmet, which didn't surprise Hermione in the least.

"Don't trust me?" He asked, a devilish grin playing on his lips.

Hermione chuckled and shook her head slightly. "Sirius, I've never ridden a motorcycle before."

"You can't be serious!" Sirius laughed. "Well get on then. I had one of these when I was younger, I've loads of experience. Only just got this one, but you'll have to trust me."

Hermione sighed and slid the helmet on over her ponytailed head. Timidly, Hermione swung her leg over the back of the motorcycle and settled into the seat behind Sirius.

"You'll want to hold on," Sirius said, kicking the start pedal down, which brought the bike roaring to life. Hermione put her hands on either side of Sirius's waist, and held the fabric of his blazer.

"A bit tighter than that, Hermione, we don't want you falling off the first time," he said, looking back at her. At his insistence, Hermione moved her hands forward and held them to the front of his waist.

When Sirius gave the bike the petrol it needed to lurch forward, Hermione's grip tightened, causing Sirius to smile. He was glad it was a smile she couldn't see.

The whole trip, Hermione fought the urge to tremble. It was no secret that Hermione hated flying on a broomstick, but being on the back of a motorcycle somehow felt more dangerous. But she knew very deeply that Sirius would not endanger her. It must have been nearly a half an hour before Sirius pulled into a car park, and powered the bike down. Hermione dismounted first, allowing for Sirius to swing his legs back around, and propped the bike on its kickstand.

Hermione handed Sirius the helmet, which he hung around one of the handlebars.

Looking around her, Hermione saw a massive overgrowth of plant life, enclosed by ancient stone pillars and wrought iron bars.

"What is this place, Sirius?" Hermione's eyes took on a mystified quality.

"An old park. Well, it's a park, and a cemetery really, but I hoped to show you the park more than anything. There's an old structure inside. It's hidden from Muggles—the wildlife in the park is a little too, er, magically inclined to allow Muggles to stumble in unawares."

Hermione looked at the gate that Sirius was leading them towards. "Sirius, what's in there?" She stopped before entering the gate that creaked when Sirius swung it open.

"Oh, nothing too bad. A nest of doxies here and there, the stray Jarvey."

Hermione sighed, feeling the wand that was concealed in one of her wool cardigan's giant pockets. She wanted it nearby if she had to defend herself. Pressing onward, she followed Sirius through the overgrowth, around scattered tombstones whose words had either faded in time, or been overgrown by lichens.

After quite a walk, Hermione and Sirius reached a clearing in the greenery. Still shrouded in the massive foliage around it, Hermione gasped when she made out a small, but very impressive Gothic castle. Its windows had all been taken out, and it looked as if there had been extensive fire damage at one point. Still, it felt forgotten; forgotten and magical.

" _Oh_ ," Hermione breathed, taking in the impressive sight. "Sirius, this place is beautiful."

Sirius smiled, and took the bag off his torso, opening it. "I thought you might appreciate it. I thought it would be a lovely place for us to sit." He reached his arm all the way into the bag, which seemed to have no bottom. "Harry told me all about the Undetectable Extension Charm you used when you were looking for Horcruxes," he added, watching the look on her face. "Quite clever, but that is not a surprise coming from you."

He withdrew many things, setting them about in a very specific manner: a large woolen blanket, which he spread wide, twenty feet from the castle. A black bottle and two plain glasses. As Sirius continued to unpack a variety of things like bread, cheese and fruit, Hermione blushed.

An idiot she was not, but all the same, Hermione felt very naïve. This outing with Sirius couldn't be called anything but a date. Swallowing her nervousness, Hermione sat at the edge of the blanket, and Sirius sat in the center. He busied himself with more items in the bag, which he did not remove, but mindlessly reorganized. Taking liberties, Hermione grabbed the black bottle and removed the cork with wandless, wordless magic.

Sirius's eyes widened in Hermione's small display of skill. Wandless magic was a very difficult feat. It could be very volatile and dangerous, even for the most advanced of wizards and witches. He said nothing of his shock, for which Hermione was grateful. Smiling to herself, Hermione sniffed at the cork in appreciation of the vintage, its bottom stained a deep burgundy from the red wine.

Sirius took the bottle from her and poured wine into both of the glasses. After a few moments, when the both of them had sipped silently, listening to the sounds of the park. Birds perched on branches called out matching songs, and somewhere in the distance, Hermione could have sworn she heard the flow of water.

"Sirius, this is… wonderful."

Sirius stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. "I'm relieved to hear that. I had hoped it wasn't too…" He sighed, not wanting to finish his own sentence.

"I think anything else would have felt disingenuous," Hermione said, finishing off her glass, which Sirius refilled without asking.

"I'll admit, I haven't done anything like this in a long time," Sirius said, leaning back onto his elbows.

Hermione did not ask to clarify if he meant eating outside, or taking a woman on a date.

"When you were… you know, before they sent you away… was there anyone?"

Sirius thought a moment. "For the most part, no. I thought girls at school were too silly to give much thought to. James and Lily had the real love. When the Order was started, there was, but it was a different time."

Hermione nodded in acceptance. She knew Sirius's reputation as a young man. Wild and impetuous. She had always pegged him as a bit of a charmer. If he truly was, he was actively trying to downplay his own past, if only for Hermione's sake.

"Lots of things change," Hermione said, thinking of Viktor a moment. "Sometimes a person is the right person. Everything is good on paper. But they're not the right person for  _you_."

"Spoken like an old soul," Sirius said through a smile.

Hermione, through the assistance of her second glass of wine, began recall just how old she truly felt sometimes. She looked at the glass, emptied it, and set it down to lie on her back a few feet from Sirius.

Taking a cue from her change in position, Sirius rolled slightly onto his side and stayed on an elbow.

"Tell me about your family, Hermione," Sirius said. "I asked you to come out with me today so that I could get to know you. Tell me about your parents."

Hermione laced her fingers and rested her hands on her stomach. "Well, they're dentists," she said. "Everyone knows that I suppose. During the war, I… Obliviated them, and they moved to Australia. I thought it was the best thing really, to keep them safe. Afterwards, I gave them their memories back. They were terribly cross with me. Still are a bit."

Sirius frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that, Hermione."

Hermione gave a half smile. "They still call once a week. A little terse at times. Haven't spoken to them since all of this happened though…" Hermione looked at Sirius's expression, and added, "I have a Muggle telephone in my flat."

Sirius nodded. "Haven't actually used one of those before, but I sure gave my mother quite the hard time by how much Muggle stuff I could get into the house and taunt her with."

Hermione knit her eyebrows together in curiosity. "Like what?"

Sirius grumbled. "I used a Permanent Sticking Charm to put some posters of Muggle girls up on my walls. If I had known that I would be living in that house as an adult, I might have reconsidered that decision."

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "That's not terribly bad. After all, you  _were_  a teenager. Teenage boys don't typically discriminate on who they think about shagging."

This drew a hearty laugh from Sirius. "No, but my mother thought that it was a moral outrage. Muggles might as well have been subhuman to Walburga Black."

Hermione looked over at Sirius and grew tense a moment. "I don't think she would have been happy at this whole arrangement."

Sirius considered Hermione a moment. With his free hand he brushed away a stray curl from Hermione's forehead. "No, but neither are a lot of bigots who are very much alive. It doesn't mean that they're right."

Hermione laid in stunned silence. He wasn't sure if it was his touch that struck her dumb, or his words.

"I rather think… this is a good thing, Hermione," Sirius said reassuringly. "The old ways should die out, and what better way than this?"

"But Sirius it… takes away freedom of choice. You can't possibly think that this is good."

Sirius measured his words before he spoke. "But it's brought me close to you, Hermione. I can't think it's  _all_  bad."

Hermione drew her lower lip in a moment and looked up at Sirius's steel grey eyes.

"Hermione, I… Ever since this happened, I think I've been made aware of something. I think the reason I didn't allow myself to look at you a certain way was because you were so young. You  _still are_. But now that it's a reality for us, being together, I find that I'm always thinking about you. What an amazing witch you are. I have so much to learn about you."

Hermione blushed and turned ever so slightly towards Sirius. "Well… what do you want to know?"

Sirius paused a moment, and looked from Hermione's lips back to her warm brown eyes. "I wonder… what you would think if I kissed you right now." He waited for Hermione's answer, which felt like it took an eternity.

Hermione's stomach lurched, and she knew if she could see herself now, her face would be beet red. "I…" she struggled to find the courage to speak. "I don't know." She watched Sirius's face fall slightly, and added, "but I'll let you know when you do."

Feeling like all the wind had been taken from him, Sirius smiled down at Hermione a moment. He leaned down to Hermione, tucking her stray hairs behind her ear, and lightly traced his fingers down her jaw.

Hermione's heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Sirius leaned in further and paused a mere centimeter from her lips before bringing his down to kiss her gently. With all her senses firing, Hermione began to respond to Sirius's kiss. When she did so, Hermione heard Sirius breathe in slightly as he deepened their kiss. Hermione made the smallest noise when Sirius's tongue lightly brushed against her lower lip, which only urged him on further. Hermione opened her mouth and allowed him to kiss her fully. So used to the way Ron kissed, so haphazard and briefly, Hermione was transported by the way Sirius responded to every move she made, enticing her further. With detached awareness, she realized she'd never been kissed this way before.

Her breathing picked up when he gently ran his tongue along hers. Sirius was losing himself in Hermione so easily. He knew himself. He knew if he wasn't careful, he might push too quickly or move faster than Hermione was ready for. With reticence, Sirius pulled away from Hermione's lips.

He hovered over Hermione and read her reaction. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and she looked as if she might shatter if he touched her.

Sirius leaned back onto his elbow and waited for Hermione to speak.

She took a few steadying breaths. "I'm afraid I… Can't quite find any words." Hermione gave a breathy half chuckle and ran her hand over her hair, which was starting to fall messily out of her elastic band.

Sirius smiled. "You don't have to."


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione's heart pounded as she walked through the Floo corridor of the Ministry's entrance. It had been over two weeks since she had been back, and she had no idea how the climate would feel once she arrived. By the look on the faces she saw this morning, no one was openly hostile, which relieved Hermione greatly. Still, they bore the unmistakable look of apprehension, which Hermione could deal with. You don't get through seven years of being best friends with Harry Potter without drawing your fair share of looks.

Hermione entered the elevator, and shared an uncomfortable silence with the witches and wizards headed to their respective offices. When the elevator stopped at Kingsley's office, she pushed past shoulders and elbows, eagerly exiting the cramped quarters.

The weekend had been something of a dream for Hermione. It had passed by so quickly, and was so surreal, that Hermione had to remind herself why she was here. The spell, having been refused by Cormac McLaggen, had proven to be effective. Hermione had been called in by the Minster to discuss the events.

Still, Hermione could not help but replay her afternoon with Sirius over and over. She could still feel his lips on hers. He had tread very carefully around her the rest of the weekend, but the two had shared very comfortable silences in the parlor or in the library, reading. Sirius and Hermione had shared all their meals, and at night, Sirius walked with Hermione to her bedroom. Each night he bid her goodnight with a kiss to her cheek or forehead. Their fingers interlaced in an intimate gesture, and Sirius's thumb would brush her palm.

Hermione found herself not wanting to return to Grasmere after all, but knew that once she spoke with Kingsley's office staff, it would be back to business as usual.

After meeting the somber faces of Kingsleys' staff and assuring them they were working hard on a solution, Hermione was again leaving the Ministry to return to the small Wray Castle in Windermere to get back to task. Just as she reached the elevator, she heard her name called.

"Hermione!" It was Harry.

Hermione stopped and turned. "Harry! You left early this morning, I didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

"Sorry, Hermione, but I had some things to get done early. And I wanted to get you this before you left," Harry was holding out two black leather journals, bearing green painted and embossed snakes that were devouring each others tails in an endless circle. Slytherin's diaries. She had forgotten all about them.

With a pit in her stomach, Hermione accepted them. The Golden Trio had terrible experience with journals and mysterious books. This set of journals would have to be treated with the utmost suspicion.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said, looking the journals over. "I hope they give some clue into the Founders' spell."

"Me too," Harry said. Suddenly a twinkle grew in his eye. "I haven't been able to ask you… You and Sirius? How's that going?"

Hermione blushed, shaking her head. "I—I don't know. We're taking this slow, I guess. Everyone else is going off and getting married, but it's different. I'm the one trying to fix all this. If I'm being honest with you Harry," she lowered her voice, "I don't think there  _is_  a solution. So… I think that conversation is one we'll be having soon."

"He's so taken with you, Hermione, you must see it?"

"I suppose."

"I see things you don't. The way he looks at you. The things he's talking about, now that you're going to be a part of his life…"

"What kind of things is he talking about, Harry?" Hermione tried not to sound too concerned.

"I'm sure he will want to tell you soon. He's just got all these ideas, and I think it's good for him. The war changed him. He's a different man. I just hope… I know this is hard for you. You were still with Ron up until recently. I just want you to be happy. Don't worry about what anyone thinks."

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded. "Thanks, Harry." He was right. She was holding back. She wasn't exactly sure why, but she thought maybe Ron had something to do with it. The exploratory kiss Sirius had given her on Saturday was only a reminder that she truly did have feelings for him. She needed to start facing it, and understanding it.

With a final hug goodbye, Hermione left for the Lake District.

* * *

Sheaf after sheaf of parchment piled up on the overlarge banquet table in the great hall at Wray Castle. Each of the researchers had their own separate stack of books so fragile and antique they employed every Muggle preservation technique Hermione instructed.

Hermione herself had been translating Salazar Slytherin's diaries from their Old English. So far they had been an incredibly enlightening look into the strife that erupted between the Founders. Slytherin expressed his suspicion that his peers were plotting against him.

Hermione had been working for two weeks on the translations. The handwriting was difficult to read, and Hermione could not afford to make any mistakes. Not this time. With the first journal halfway completed, and with it already being Thursday, Hermione wasn't sure she was going to be able to go London for the weekend. With a heavy heart, Hermione set the journal aside, and began a letter to Sirius.

_Dear Sirius,_

_Thank you for your last letter. I can't begin to describe how much letters from home have helped me through these few weeks. Yours especially._

_I am having a difficult time with the Slytherin diaries. They are so dense, and I want the translations to be exact._

_Unfortunately I don't see myself being able to leave Windermere this weekend, as we had planned. I wanted to let you know before you wondered why I haven't shown up to Grimmauld Place._

Hermione held her quill aloft for a moment, debating whether she should write the last bit.

_As an alternative, Wray Castle has many unoccupied guest rooms, and I could certainly use the company. Would you consider coming for a visit?_

_Yours,_

_Hermione_

Hermione forced herself up to the owlery to send the letter before she got cold feet. After the tawny owl had carried her missive away, she had the intense urge to  _accio_  the letter back, but stuffed it down deep. After all, how was Sirius going to come if she didn't actually pluck up the nerve to ask?

She kept having to remind herself in the weeks that followed the kiss they shared that everything that lead to now had showed Hermione that Sirius wanted her. It was an inevitability, in any case. Now, all she had to do was wait.

* * *

"She can't get away with it!" he cried, hurling his half empty glass of firewhiskey into the fireplace. The fire roared for a moment.

"Edward, what have I been telling you?" Amycus crooned from his wingbacked chair, swirling his brandy in his glass.

The man standing at the hearth, Edward, flexed his fist. "Always waiting, Carrow. Why can't we just get the bitch and bring her back here?"

"Because, Ed, she's got to translate those journals," he said, a devilish grin on his face.

"Why, Carrow?"

"You do want her to restore your son's magic, don't you, McLaggen?" Amycus cocked his head to the side.

Edward swung to look Amycus straight in the face. "Of course I do. But do you really think she can do it?"

"Of  _course_  she can do it, Amycus," another voice came from the settee on the other side of the room. Antonin Dolohov looked positively bored, limbs splayed about, staring at the vaulted ceiling. "She's the brightest witch of her age, haven't you heard?"

"And when she does, we can take  _care_  of her…" Amycus intoned.

"Even if Cormac can't get his magic back, I still want that bitch to pay. Seducing my son at Hogwarts… No wonder the boy fell in love with a Muggle."

" _No killing_ ," Dolohov said, a warning tone apparent in his voice.

Amycus snorted. "Yes, yes, you'll get your little play thing, I promise." It was well known amongst the Death Eaters in hiding that Dolohov harbored a sick obsession with Hermione Granger. No one could exactly pry the whole story out of him, but Amycus suspected it had something to do with fighting her twice, and being defeated by her twice. But Amycus didn't know Antonin to be especially cruel. That was his calling card. So, he told himself he may soon find out exactly what Antonin Dolohov wanted with the little Mudblood.

* * *

Hermione was nearing the end of the first journal. Her hand cramped every few lines now, forcing her to set her quill down to flex her hand. Having been working for hours now, Hermione barely noticed when the rest of her team began filing out of the banquet hall to head home for the weekend. Now, at seven o'clock, it was only Barris and the snarky American curse breaker who remained in the castle.

"Hermione," Barris called for the second time.

"Hmm?" Hermione looked up, bleary eyed and frizzy haired.

"Dinner. In the kitchens. It's there when you want it. I'm done for the night." He rubbed one of his eyes in exhaustion.

Hermione nodded. "Alright then. Thank you," she looked back down at the journals.

"Get to sleep at a decent hour tonight, won't you?"

"We'll see…" Hermione said with a sigh. "But thank you for the concern."

Barris nodded and gave a thin smile. With him and the rest of them out of the banquet hall, Hermione would be able to work in total silence, save for the sound of the crackling fire.

With her eyelids weighted, Hermione grumbled and let her quill fall to the table. She rubbed at her face with her hands, lacing her fingers into her hair and leaning onto the table. Her thoughts were no longer her own, no longer in English. She thought vaguely that she'd heard somewhere that when you started dreaming in a language was when you had truly become fluent.

Hermione wasn't sure if she had yet started to dream in Old English, but she'd had many dreams of boxes of parchment burying her alive, a flock of quills flying after Hermione threatening to peck her to death, and a recurring dream that she was being chased by someone, but couldn't run. Her legs wouldn't move, or the ground was quicksand. Either way, each time she saw Bellatrix Lestrange over her shoulder she would jerk awake, sweating through her pajamas.

She very nearly slipped into another dream, or would have if it weren't for the hand that reached out and touched her hair so lightly she thought she'd imagined it. Lifting her head off her hands, she durned around only to find Sirius standing behind her with a sympathetic smile on his face.

"Sirius," she said, relief washing over her. "I was starting to think you weren't going to come."

"And leave you here to work yourself to death? Absolutely not." Sirius placed a light hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Have you eaten?" Sirius considered the wilting girl in front of him.

Hermione's expression fell. "No. I suppose it is getting a bit late, isn't it?" She scooted her chair back, and rose gingerly, her joints aching from her frozen position. She and Sirius shared an appreciative look of one another. He pulled her to himself in an embrace. Hermione's arms fit perfectly around his waist, and she hugged him back. She breathed in his scent, earthy and musky. It was uniquely him. And she had missed it.

"I missed you," Sirius said. He pulled back to look at her.

Hermione blushed and smiled down at her shoes. "And… I missed you."

Sirius's fingers rested under Hermione's chin, gently tipping her face upwards. His thumb brushed along the bottom of her lip as he took in the sight of her. Hermione waited, her breath held in her chest. Sirius's lips met Hermione's gently, and chastely in a kiss. Sirius dropped his hand slowly, and looked around the room.

Hermione swallowed her disappointment. Two weeks, and she'd been thinking of more than a small peck hello.

"Kitchens then," Sirius said, pulling away from her.

"Right," Hermione said, leading the way.

When they reached the kitchen, two house elves bowed and exited the room, having set the food out in a self serve manner. Hermione had instructed them to do this on nights where the whole research team was not present. It had taken some persuasion, but eventually the elves agreed to let the witches and wizards serve themselves on occasion. Her days with S.P.E.W. might be over, but she still felt uncomfortable with the idea of house elves doing more than she thought necessary.

Hermione considered her options and chose the hearty, steaming stew in the middle of the table. With a bit of brown bread in one hand, and the bowl in the other, she sat at the kitchen table. She much preferred this table, with its worm eaten wood and its soft edges, to the polished oak banquet table. It felt less intimidating to be at this table.

Sirius slid into a chair across from Hermione with a dinner roll in one hand, and two tankards of hard cider in the other. He set one down in front of Hermione first, and then drank generously from his own.

"I really shouldn't, Sirius," Hermione said, putting her spoon down. "I still have a lot of translating to do."

Sirius smiled a wicked grin and suppressed it quickly. "You'll have to try harder than that for me to let you off the hook. I think you need it."

With a sigh, Hermione took up the tankard and drank from it. It was still almost ice cold, and perfectly sweet despite its alcoholic content. She set it down and looked back at Sirius. "Happy?"

"For now," Sirius said, leaning back in his chair in a devil-may-care fashion.

For a moment, Hermione could see the young boy who Sirius used to be. He had still retained this boyish quality through his imprisonment in Azkaban, but after the war, he was somehow more… settled. She gave a small chuckle to herself, thinking of what it must have been like to know him when he was her own age.

"What?" Sirius asked.

"Nothing," Hermione shook her head. When Sirius didn't let her gaze go, she relented. "I just wonder… What you were really like when you were my age. If you would have… if we would have… you know."

"If I would have liked you then?" Sirius asked, the Cheshire grin still splayed across his face. Hermione wished he would stop smiling so much. His charm was too much of a distraction and made her face burn.

"Well, in a manner of speaking, yes."

"Ah," Sirius nodded. "I know you know a bit of what I was like. About what I used to do. To tell you the truth, Hermione, yes, I would have liked you. But with a girl as pretty as you are, as smart and intelligent… I would have made it my mission to pester you. So much, I'm afraid, that I think you would have despised me. But I was young, and those kind of things just didn't occur to me."

Hermione smiled into her stew. "Lucky we're here now, then, isn't it?"

"Incredibly," Sirius drank from his tankard and gave Hermione a very predatory look.

Hermione tucked her hair behind her now-pink ears.

"So, what does Salazar Slytherin have to say in his journals?"

Hermione drank for a moment, and sighed. "I think I'm close to something. Actually, when you came I was translating a passage that seems more… serioius than the others. To be sure, it's a vile journal, full of things that many Pure-Blood wizards would love to say aloud, but this feels different."

"Different how?"

"He wrote of his collaboration with the other founders. The magic they all shared. Mostly of what they shared with him. Transfiguration, charms mostly. But what I'm reading now, he's starting to mention what he taught them. It's all very vague, but I am hoping it becomes clear soon." Hermione leaned back, giving up on her stew. "To be honest, I'd like to finish the journals so I can quit this whole thing. Translate them and hand it off to someone else."

Sirius nodded. He'd been very supportive of Hermione's efforts up until now, but they both knew what they weren't discussing: the fact that if Hermione were successful, they might not have to marry. Sirius silently hoped Hermione wanted to quit, if only to have the excuse to be with him.

"I would offer my help, but I'm afraid the language of the Anglo-Saxons is not something I picked up in Hogwarts. In fact… how is it something you picked up?"

Hermione smiled. She always prided herself on her educational background. "It's true, my Muggle education was essentially put to the side when I came to Hogwarts. But my parents and I all agreed that I needed to continue with my studies. Maths, science, history, languages… I picked up a book written in Old English, with its modern translation side by side. I just picked it up after that."

"What book?"

" _Beowulf_."

Sirius smiled. "I haven't read that one. I have been picking up Muggle books down Grimmauld Place. Everything I always wanted to read, but mother forbade."

"I'll lend you my copy," Hermione said. They were silent a moment, and both drank more of their cider. "You always mention your mother. How she never allowed things. How she burned your portrait off the family tapestry. What did your father make of all of that?"

"Ah, yes," he said, taking Hermione's empty tankard and rising to refill it. "Orion Black. Still prejudiced of course, but deferred to Walburga's quest to stamp out the love I had for Muggles and anything they saw as… unsavory. My father was a quiet man. Good-natured, save for the one thing. I sometimes wonder what would have been if she had not been so emphatic."

"I'm sorry, Sirius," Hermione said. "No matter who they were, they were your parents."

Sirius shook his head and sat back down with their tankards. "I guess a small part of me will love them forever. They're my parents. But Charlus and Dorea Potter… they were the parents I wanted. Wonderful people."

Suddenly, Hermione felt the prickle of tears at her eyes. She shook her head when Sirius gave her a pitying look.

"I'm sorry," she said. "For all the people who were lost to Voldemort, it somehow feels… like Harry's life would have been so much different if they had been around."

"Well, they were quite old when they had James," Sirius reasoned, grabbing Hermione's hand. "The dragon pox took them both before they could have seen James and Lily die. Sometimes I feel like it was a mercy. No parent should have to bury their child."

Hermione swallowed back her tears and nodded. "I know. I still just feel so terribly for him sometimes."

"I know I'm poor substitution for James and Lily, but you know… we are distant relatives."

Hermione's eyes brightened.

"Yes, fourth cousins, thrice removed or some such nonsense. All the pureblood wizarding families are related in some way. It's all rather incestuous if you think about it. It's why I won't recant what I said about this sort of being a good thing…"

Hermione gave him a look. He knew she deferred to free will.

Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to get overly emotional about other peoples' families, but… well, stress is not something I handle well."

"I think you do," Sirius said confidently. "Harry's told me all about what you did when you were searching for Horcruxes. I know you underplay how you handled things, but you're brilliant, Hermione."

Hermione smiled in appreciation.

"Now," Sirius said. "What can I do to help? I may not know Old English, but I take directions fairly well."

"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Keeping me company is just about the best thing you could do, really. And… make tea when I ask for it."

"As you wish," Sirius said.

They returned to the banquet hall and retrieved the journals and all of Hermione's translations. Looking at the banquet table, Hermione clicked her tongue in distaste.

"I can't sit here anymore. I think I'll go mad if I do."

Sirius followed her into the adjoining library, where she spread all her papers out on the stone floor. Sirius sat close by in a wingback chair, reading Hermione's copy of  _Beowulf_. Occasionally Sirius would look up to see Hermione scratching at her hair, or mouthing words to herself as she sprawled on the floor.

It seemed that hours passed, and Hermione scratched away with her quill, flipping pages as she went. Sirius brought tea, which Hermione abandoned her work to enjoy. When tea was finished, she would dive right back in. It wasn't until midnight that Hermione gasped and dropped her quill.

Sirius snapped his book shut and looked at Hermione.

Hermione sat up and looked at the closed journal in front of her. She looked as if she might be sick.

"Hermione, what is it?"

Hermione stood, and walked away from the journal as if it would bite her. She stood by the fire and stared at it from a distance.

"It's in there," she said. "I don't know exactly what to do, but it's the biggest clue we've had so far."

Hermione looked at the warning look in Sirius's eyes that said don't be vague. "Blood magic, Sirius. He taught them blood magic."


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione began to pace back and forth, her arms drawn to her chest in subconscious protection. Sirius watched a moment as Hermione's anxiety got the better of her before he stopped her with his hands on her arms.

" _Hermione_ ," Sirius said firmly. "You can't go to Kingsley right now. It's past midnight."

"But he would want to know," Hermione said. She ran her fingers along her bottom lip. "He would, wouldn't he?"

"Yes, but not now. Besides, what did you say it said?"

"Er— _the blood of the leaders is binding_. He goes on to say something about ah… using their blood in a final act? Final ritual? It's  _þegnung_  or  _þegnunga_ , I can't be sure, his writing is so difficult to read. But it must be 'ritual'."

"See Hermione, you can barely piece together what it's actually saying. How are you going to go to Kingsley with barely any information?"

Hermione's expression fell. She knew Sirius was right.

"I think you've been working at this for too long. It's taken its toll on you, I can tell."

Sirius guided Hermione over to the wingback chair and she sat down compliantly. He knelt in front of her, and took her hands in his.

"I think you should hand this over to Kingsley now. The team. There has to be someone else who can translate Old English as well as you." Hermione's eyes flashed, and Sirius backpedaled. "Alright, a break then. Let the others handle it for a while and you stay back in London with me."

"Fine," Hermione said. She exhaled, as if she had been holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and Sirius had taken it from her, even if only for a moment. "I knew it would be something like that. I could take the document and do a simple charm to find out if it truly was written in blood, but it's with Vincent, the American curse breaker Kingsley brought in. He's here in the castle somewhere…"

"I wouldn't let you anyway," Sirius said, his tone very final. He rubbed at Hermione's palms with his thumbs in a soothing gesture.

"Come on," Sirius said. "You're going to sleep. You can't think like this. The journal will keep for the night."

Hermione took a deep and steadying breath before nodding. She stood and scooped her papers and the journal off the floor, making a neat stack. As she set the papers and journal down on a nearby table, she gave it one final look. She wanted to continue translating, but could barely keep her eyes open.

A gentle tug at her hand brought her from her daze, and she followed Sirius.

"Which way?" Sirius asked. Hermione lead the way without a word. When she entered her rooms, Sirius paused at the doorway. Hermione turned, looking for him.

"Get some sleep then," Sirius said, turning to leave.

"No," Hermione called out, wringing her hands together. She looked around the room, from her collection of books on her desk to an assortment of potions on a dresser, avoiding Sirius's gaze. "Stay."

Sirius's eyebrows raised, and he took one step into the room, staring at Hermione.

"I can't…" Hermione cleared her throat. "I can't sleep alone tonight. I don't mean…" Hermione's eyes shot up to Sirius's finally. "Oh,  _Merlin on a broomstick_ , I don't know  _what_  I mean."

Sirius's stomach flipped a moment, and he approached the clearly exhausted witch. He smiled down at her, and placed one hand on her shoulder, and the other behind her ear, settling on her curly hair. "I do though. If you tell me to stay, I will. I have no expectations."

 _Expectations_. Hermione's heart fluttered. She had no idea what she was doing. In her work-induced delirium, Hermione had effectively invited a man twenty years her senior into her bed. Hermione had to remind herself that they were magically bound by betrothal, and the rest was merely formality. With a final kick to her backside she reminded herself that hundreds of other witches and wizards in their position had either already married or were very close.

"I'll just grab my things. I won't be a minute." Sirius retreated from Hermione's rooms, leaving her alone, standing on the stone floor feeling like a fool.

She willed herself to get ready for bed, washing her face with tepid water from a basin, and changing into her collared nightshirt. With all the energy she could muster, she slid into her bed, shivering between the cold sheets.

In Sirius's absence, she thought of her breakthrough. Blood magic was serious. It was foul. It was unspeakable, and Hermione knew that if the process was outlined clearly enough, Kingsley might want to set into motion the process of reversing the spell using the same blood magic. He might even want Hermione to make the attempt. The very thought made her want to vomit. Voldemort had been brought back using blood magic. Blood magic had kept him alive for those many years he was in hiding. Blood magic was a terrible taboo in the wizarding world. To actively and knowingly engage in blood magic, it was said, would taint part of a witch or wizard's soul, but Hermione had no textual support for that claim.

So wrapped up in her agony over blood magic was she that Hermione barely noticed when Sirius slid into bed beside her. His body heat radiated beside her, and Hermione felt instantly warm when he pulled her body to his. She had not stopped shivering since climbing into bed.

Sirius felt her shaking, and held her to his side tightly. Hermione turned into his chest appreciatively, resting her head on his soft, long sleeved black shirt.

"He'll want me to do it," she said against his chest.

Sirius sighed. "Hermione, Kingsley is under an intense amount of pressure, but I believe with everything I have that he would  _never_  ask you to perform blood magic."

Hermione was quiet. In her silence, Sirius pulled away from her slightly to look upon her face, adjusting his body so they were both on their sides.

"And if he does ask, Hermione, I won't allow it."

" _Allow_?" Hermione's voice was small. Normally such a statement would garner more of a rise from her, but she found in this moment all the fight had been drawn from her.

"Hermione, you're the strongest witch I know, and I know you'll do anything you get your mind set on… but sometimes you do too much. And I know you. If asked, you would give yourself completely to save the world. No, you and Harry and Ron gave too much of yourselves. They can't ask you to give any more than that."

He caressed her hair a moment before continuing. "I won't allow them to exploit the woman I'm going to marry that way."

Hermione's breath hitched a moment. She was very nearly close to tears. Sirius's words hit home. They had sacrificed significantly to save the wizarding world. She had sacrificed her childhood, her innocence, even some of her friends, and she knew deep down that they would continue to ask her to give more and more. If it weren't for Sirius, she would have done the noble thing and given more. She'd never had anyone who fought for  _her_. Always the cause, but never her.

She wanted to thank him, to tell him how much it meant that he was willing to fight for her happiness, but the words stuck in her mouth.

Unwilling to lose herself to sorrow or exhaustion any longer, Hermione brazenly leaned forward and kissed Sirius, placing her hand on his chest. He was frozen a moment, allowing Hermione to kiss him first.

He responded swiftly and passionately, which seemed to surprise Hermione. He rolled her onto her back and bore down on her before pulling his head back to look at her in the pale moonlight that shone through the open window.

"Hermione, maybe this wasn't a good idea, me staying with you through the night…" He was fighting incredibly hard to keep his composure.

"I asked  _you_ ," Hermione said. "I would rather feel  _this_  than what I've been feeling since all this happened. I don't want to feel that way anymore…"

Hermione was able to briefly see the hungry look in Sirius's eyes as he got all the confirmation he needed. He descended on her mouth once more, kissing her deeply and fully. Her breathing picked up, and she snaked her arms around his shoulders, lacing her fingers in his nearly shoulder length hair.

Sirius studied the way she kissed him, changing his pressure to meet hers. As he learned her mouth, he shifted his weight until he settled comfortably between her legs. With his weight on one of his elbows he rested the other on her hip. The pressure on her hip increased with every kiss.

Hermione responded to each new sensation with a soft sigh or small moan, which drove Sirius on further. Involuntarily, Sirius's body responded to Hermione, his hips tilting upward in search of contact. When he found it, he pulled away from her mouth a moment to revel in the sensation, even through the layers of fabric that separated them.

He nuzzled Hermione's nose with his and moaned in approval.

"Sirius," she breathed, "I don't want to take this too far. The founders' spell… we can't risk consummation before the wedding. We don't know what will happen."

Sirius breathed raggedly and responded feebly. "I know. We won't risk it then. But…" Sirius's hips shifted, looking for the contact that had been broken. Sirius chuckled when Hermione responded in kind. Stopping was not something either of them wanted to do.

"Do you trust me, Hermione?" Sirius looked into Hermione's eyes, some of his boyish charm returning to his own.

Hermione searched Sirius's expression and paused a moment. She had never been any further than this with Ron, or even Viktor. She found it difficult in this moment to hide her nervousness. "I do," she said feebly.

"I will stop if you tell me to," he said reassuringly. When she remained silent, Sirius took this as tacit consent, and shifted his weight so he was no longer between her legs.

In an instant, he was on his side, his weight supported on one elbow, and his hand on Hermione's stomach. Her nightshirt had ridden up to her hips, leaving the smallest peek of her white knickers exposed.

In the calm that passed between the two of them, Sirius leaned down and kissed Hermione more gently and lovingly. His hand increased its pressure on her stomach, and he slowly moved it down an inch at a time. Soon he felt Hermione trembling under his touch, unsure what his next move would be.

He pulled back from their kiss to watch her expressions change. He knew what he would find when his hand met the apex of her thighs, but he had no idea just how intensely Hermione had been responding to him.

He touched her sensitive skin through the thin fabric of her knickers and found that it had been soaked through completely. He sighed appreciatively as he parted her through the fabric, feeling for the sensitive nerves.

The small mewling noises she had been making turned to a sharp gasp as Sirius slid his middle finger under the fabric deftly, feeling at her wetness completely. Her hand shot instinctively to his shoulder for support, and gripped at the toned muscle she found there.

Her eyes opened completely, and she stared helplessly into Sirius's eyes. He made a gentle shushing noise as he began to circle the spot that drew such a reaction from her.

Sirius fought the intense curiosity within him. With every moment, he felt more and more possessive of Hermione, wanting every part of her. He knew she was young, but his vanity threatened to get the best of him.

Heady with lust, Sirius's resolve crumbled, and he had to ask. "Had anyone ever touched you this way, Hermione?"

Hermione bit her lower lip and shook her head so slightly that Sirius might have missed it. He smiled to himself and continued with his movements. With every pass, Hermione's body trembled more and more, and she found herself grinding her hips in response.

Sirius knew he would send Hermione over the edge with his next few actions. He stopped his work, giving Hermione a slight reprieve, and hooked his fingers into the band of her now-useless undergarment. Looking into her eyes for some sign of protest, Sirius began to gently tug them off. When he found none, he pulled them completely from Hermione's body, and tossed them onto the floor.

Carefully he returned to what he had been doing, causing Hermione to resume her ragged breathing. With some hesitation, Sirius placed a finger slowly inside her, causing her to cry out. Her hand shot from his shoulder to his hair, gripping firmly for dear life.

As Hermione relaxed and began to move her hips again, Sirius picked up his pace, pulling in and out, curving his finger upwards to find the spot that would send her over the edge. As she began to tremble, Sirius knew she was close. As she cried out, she gripped the roots of his hair tightly, which only turned him on more.

Her cries grew smaller, and her eyes were no longer tightly shut but open a hair, hazed in pleasure.

Sirius smiled in self-satisfaction. He had been dreaming of what it might be like to see and hear Hermione come, and it was even better than he had imagined. He brought his mouth down to hers, and kissed her lips lightly.

"You are incredible," he said, bringing his fingers to his mouth, tasting her. He hummed in approval.

Her breathing slowed. After what seemed like ages, Hermione came down from her high, and pulled Sirius down into a kiss.

"Sirius," she said, her eyes heavy with pleasure and exhaustion.

He smiled contentedly. It didn't take a Seer to know that Hermione was on the verge of sleep. He really couldn't complain—he had brought her to that precipice.

She moved her hand to Sirius's chest, and moved it downward, only to have it stopped gently by him. He kissed her palm.

"Next time," he said sweetly.

Before she could respond, Hermione had been carried off to sleep, with Sirius Black gazing down at her in awe. As she breathed small, shallow breaths, Sirius kissed her forehead, careful not to wake her. He collapsed beside Hermione, on his back, hooking one of his arms behind his head. For all the unhappiness that had befallen him, he never thought that he would be able to feel something so pure and light ever again. With a deep sense of contentment, Sirius fell asleep beside Hermione, the girl who was miraculously turning him into a reflection of the best parts of his former self.


	11. Chapter 11

The sun hadn't yet risen, but the color of the sky had started to turn from black to a deep navy blue. In a matter of an hour, the light would have been enough to wake Hermione from her deep, much-needed sleep, but for now, Sirius thought it was best to let her rest.

He rose from beside Hermione and silently padded out of her room, making for the kitchens. He wasn't much of a sleeper anymore. In his younger days, he could sleep well past noon, but after Azkaban, and living on the run before being cooped up in Grimmauld Place, Sirius found that his sleep was always easily disturbed.

There would be no going back to sleep, so rather than wake Hermione, he settled for an early cup of coffee and a lonely tour around the drafty Wray castle. As fall approached, Sirius could feel the chill set in. He always appreciated cooler weather, but was always glad to have a warm bed.

With a piping hot mug in his hands, Sirius sat in the wing backed chair he had occupied the night before. With his wand he sleepily sent sparks into the hearth, setting the fire ablaze again. His mind remained relatively blank as he reached the bottom of his coffee, but Hermione remained ever-present, as she always was. She was as a will-o-the-wisp; her face would surface and vanish in his mind as he completed the most mundane of tasks. It was for this fact that Sirius had to strain his ears for the sound he thought he heard.

Hermione's voice, calling his name. There was silence. Sirius stood quickly, alertly. Just when he thought he was imagining things, there it was.

"Sirius!" her voice from upstairs. The mug crashed to the flagstone floor, and Sirius pulled his wand out of his trousers, running for the stairs with bare feet.

* * *

Hermione was in the place between asleep and awake when Sirius left the bed. She was distantly aware of the change in pressure beside her in bed, but was too tired to open her eyes or even call out for him. Sleep overtook her again in a matter of seconds. It felt indeed that only seconds had passed since Sirius had left the bed before he returned. His weight, his warmth, returned beside her.

She sighed and turned over to face him, rolling into the crook of his arm, where he cradled her gently. She laid there a moment longer, in the dim pre-dawn light, before she breathed him in. Only, it was different. He smelled different. He felt different.

With her senses flaring, Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she looked up at the man who was most decidedly not Sirius Black.

"Good morning, beautiful," the man said, placing his hand suddenly over Hermione's mouth.

She managed to call out to Sirius, but was muffled by the pressure of his hand. She reached for her wand, which rested on her bedside table, only to have her wrist pinned to the bed.

Soon, all of the man's weight rested on her. He straddled her waist, sitting atop her, his hands on her mouth and her wrist. With her free hand, she reached up to claw at his face—(Dolohov? Could it be him? It was too dim to see properly)—and successfully scratched him, drawing blood from his cheek. He took the hand from her mouth, and grabbed her other wrist, pinning it down too.

Now able to cry out, she called Sirius's name again.

"Sirius!"

"Now, now,  _solnishko_ , that won't do," Dolohov said, pulling his wand from his robes, and pointing it at Hermione before shouting " _Incarcerous_!"

Ropes materialized and began to wrap around Hermione—her legs, her wrists, her arms, and finally her mouth was gagged. Struggling against the restraints, Hermione was hoisted from the bed and slung over Dolohov's shoulder. He held onto her thighs, feeling at their bareness. Hermione's sleep shirt rode higher as she fought against the Death Eater.

Hermione felt the wind pushed from her as Dolohov's shoulder pressed into her stomach. She couldn't have cried out if she wanted to, and his strength was overwhelming. He carried her effortlessly down the hallway.

"Have you got them?" Dolohov said aloud, to whom Hermione was not sure.

"Yes," she heard a familiar voice, then a rustling of papers. "We'd better hurry, Black's heard us."

" _Black_?" Dolohov asked, his tone mirthful. "Been a naughty girl, haven't we, Hermione?"

Hermione struggled, screaming through her gag.

"Hermione!" she heard Sirius shout from the stairwell. He raced up the stone steps, and she could hear his feet pad against the floor.

Still facing away, she couldn't see the ensuing duel. Bright streams of light shot past her as curses and spells were hurled each way, but before any of them could make contact with the man carrying her, he Disapparated away from Wray castle, tearing her from safety into the unknown.

* * *

The room she was in was dank, dark, and the nearest window was several yards off. It was a dungeon, she was sure. She was dropped from Dolohov's shoulder and placed on the floor, where her bare feet met damp stone. Though she was entirely bound by ropes, Hermione strained against them in an attempt to strike out at her abductor.

He chuckled at her attempts, and placed both of his hands on her shoulders before pressing her against a stone wall. His body pressed against hers.

"Now, I'm going to have to leave you for a bit, and since we both know you're too smart for your own good, I'm going to have to leave you with this," Dolohov brought out a silver chain, yarn-like and thin, and draped it around her neck. Instantly, both ends of the chain fastened together and shone brightly.

"No!" Hermione shouted through her gag.

"Dear me, where are my manners?" Dolohov grabbed the gag from Hermione's mouth and pulled, allowing her to speak.

"Take it off!" Hermione shouted, her eyes filling with panic.

"And allow you full use of your magic?" Dolohov's eyes twinkled. "That wouldn't be very wise at all, would it?"

Hermione seethed at the dark haired man before her. He backed up a moment, removing the ropes from Hermione with his wand, and replaced her restraints with iron manacles chained to the wall.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

"I think I'll allow my partners to introduce themselves first," he backed up a few paces. "What they want and what I want are very different things." His lips curled into a sickening grin, and he laughed to himself.

With the iron door padlocked behind him, Hermione was left in the chilly dungeon on her own, her magic dampened by an enchanted silver chain. She was dressed only in the sleeping shirt she wore the night before, her hair wild and unkempt, her legs bare and covered in gooseflesh. In an attempt to warm herself, Hermione sank to the floor and drew her legs to herself.

Unwilling to accept her fate, she pulled at the chain that tethered her to the wall, only to find that it was secure. The metal dug uncomfortably into her skin. When that failed, she reached up with her hands to find the silver chain at her neck, and pulled. With the first tug, it glowed. The second tug made the chain heat up, burning her neck and her fingers.

She pulled her fingers away in pain, crying out. She looked at the red skin of her fingers, and knew she would blister soon. She shook out of pain and fear. Still, she had to keep fighting. She knew that one known Death Eater had her—she was bright enough to know that where there was one, there were sure to be more.

Pulling her wrists up, she tried a bit of wandless magic, muttering " _Alohomora_ ". The manacles remained locked, and the chain again seared into her neck.

She had read of this kind of charm, but after they were outlawed, Hermione thought they had passed into history. Clearly Dolohov had inherited a magic blocking chain, as so many dark wizards inherited dangerous items from their families.

Hermione would have to be smart. She couldn't use magic—not now anyway. She would have to be patient and wait for her captors to show their faces.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt hadn't expected Sirius Black to be standing in his living room, shaking in anger and fear, but here he was. Kingsley had been roused from bed to shouts of his name, only to find the wizard pacing his living room.

After Sirius had explained what happened, Kingsley threw on his robes and sent his Patronus to all the Aurors in the Ministry. Without a word, the two of them Apparated to Wray castle, and searched for evidence into Hermione's whereabouts.

"Sirius, I know she's in danger, but I need you to calm down for me," Kingsley was saying to Sirius, who paced around the banquet hall. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Sirius recalled hearing Hermione scream his name, but left out details of the night before. He recounted climbing the stairs to find Antonin Dolohov and another wizard Disapparating with Hermione in restraints.

"The other wizard," he said. "What did he look like?"

Sirius ran his hand through his dark hair. "About my height. No older than thirty-five… sandy brown hair."

Kingsley was quiet a moment. "Did he speak to you?"

"Well, if you can consider hurling curses and spells at me speaking, Kingsley, then I suppose so."

Kingsley turned to one of the Aurors who had just entered the room.

"Blithe!" The lanky blonde Auror dutifully approached his Minister.

"Has all the research team been located?"

The worry on the wizard's face was apparent. "Sir, we've found all but two."

"Who?" Kingsley's eyes grew dark and serious.

"Hermione Granger, of course, and… Vincent Gillespie."

Kingsley's jaw flexed. "Get a picture into the  _Prophet_."

Blithe nodded knowingly. Sirius didn't like the terse silence between the two wizards.

"Who's this Gillespie?"

"Did this other wizard sound American to you?" Kingsley asked.

"I don't know, maybe. That, or Canadian. I can't really tell the difference sometimes."

"Sirius," Kingsley pulled a wallet-sized photo out of his back pocket. He handed it to him.

On it were four people, arms around each other, laughing and looking back and forth—Kingsley, his late wife Miranda, a caramel-skinned witch Sirius assumed was Miranda's sister, and another man. It was the same sandy brown haired man who had absconded with Hermione and the stack of papers and books.

"That's him, Kingsley, that's the man who left with Dolohov," he said.

Kingsley ran his hand over his forehead.

"Who is he, Kingsley?"

"He's my brother-in-law. My wife's sister moved to America after she married him. He's been working on this whole crisis with Hermione. He's a skilled curse breaker."

"Kingsley… Why has your brother-in-law kidnapped Hermione?"

Kingsley shook his head. "He never gave me reason to believe he could be capable of something like this, but just last week he said something to me that didn't sound like him at all. He's a good man, Sirius, I can't truly believe he could do something like this."

"Even the most skilled curse breakers can still be Imperiused, Kinglsey," Sirius said, trying not to lose his temper.

"You're right Sirius." Kingsley looked around at the Aurors who were trying not to pay too close attention to the powerful wizard who had just had his betrothed kidnapped. "I think… I think we can handle this. Why don't you just go back to Grimmauld Place? Wait there until we get her back."

"The hell I will!" Sirius said. "In case you forgot what I was training to become before I was imprisoned without a trial, I'm going to stay on and make sure you lot don't cock up anything else. Now, if there's nothing else, Kinsley, I'll be off to find Harry."

Kingsley said not another word as Sirius left the banquet hall.

* * *

Hermione found, rather unfortunately, that the more she pulled at her restraints, the higher up it was pulled into the stone. An hour prior she had had plenty of slack, allowing her to stay on the floor comfortably, but now her arms were fully extended above her, though she was still seated. She huffed in indignation, and resigned herself to her situation.

Her stomach growled as she shivered on the dungeon floor. Just when she had given up all hope of seeing anyone, the iron door squeaked horrendously. In walked Dolohov, followed by a dazed looking Vincent Gillespie, a man in his fifties she'd never seen before, and Amycus Carrow.

Her stomach filled with ice at the sight of Amycus Carrow. He had taken over as a professor at Hogwarts following Severus Snape's takeover as Headmaster. He had shown he had more appreciation for the torture of students than for actually teaching. His presence could not be good.

"Miss Granger," Carrow croaked. "How kind of you to come."

Hermione remained quiet. She would not indulge him and his taunting.

"I'm sure you might be starting to figure out what you're doing here," Carrow looked over to the American curse breaker.

Hermione might have lashed out and screamed at him for being a traitor, but he looked… off.

"What have you done to Gillespie?" she asked calmly.

"Started to fight the Imperius, I'm afraid to say. Had to turn up the heat. He's a bit scrambled at the moment, but he'll be fine. Once you two complete the counter-spell, he'll be right as rain."

"Counter-spell?" Hermione looked at the men standing before her.

"Gillespie informed us last night that you were able to translate the journals. Found the solution. And our host was so insistent that you fix this whole mess."

Hermione looked over to the man in his fifties, who had hair that might have once been blonde. He wore spectacles, and might have otherwise been a very nice man, if it weren't for the fact that she was now a hostage.

"I translated the journals," Hermione said. "I was going to hand them off to Kingsley so he could fix this whole mess. I want nothing to do with blood magic."

"My son lost his magic because of you!" The unnamed man shouted. His fists clenched, and his knuckles whitened.

"Cormac?" Hermione blinked. "You're Cormac's father? Mister MacLaggen, I'm so sorry… But I didn't force your son to refuse."

"Why you little—" Edward MacLaggen stepped forward and bore down on the girl who was crumpled on the stone floor.

"Ed, Ed—" Amycus held back McLaggen, chuckling a bit. "Why don't you leave that to me and Antonin? It's what we do best."

He winked at Hermione, and began to usher the Imperiused wizard and the irate father out the door. He called back over his shoulder. "You'll agree to do the spell, Miss Granger. I think you'll find we can be quite persuasive."

With Carrow, MacLaggen and Gillespie gone, it was only Dolohov and Hermione who remained in the leaky dungeon. He stared at her a moment, and approached slowly. Hermione remained where she was, but looked up at her bound wrists.

Dolohov knelt in front of her, careful not to get his robes wet in the puddles surrounding them. He reached forward and grabbed Hermione's bound wrists, pulling them downward. The slack was returned to the chains, and he let her wrists go. Hermione looked up at him in surprise.

"Amycus and I have different methods, Hermione," he said, almost kindly. "You'll find that if you just agree, this whole experience will be a lot more pleasant."

"And if I refuse?"

"I know you've been Crucioed before, so you know what to expect. Amycus enjoys inflicting pain, Hermione, but I do not. Not  _that_  kind of pain anyway…"

Hermione's heart raced. She shuddered to think what Dolohov wanted.

"He'll hurt you, Hermione, and when he does, the only things that will get him to stop will be complete cooperation with the spell… and giving into  _me_."

Hermione swallowed and looked at the older man, trying to find meaning in his expression.

"Ever since the Department of Mysteries, Hermione, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind. You handled yourself so… forcefully. And when you  _Obliviated_  me, well… I like my witches with some fire in them."

He brought his knuckles up to Hermione's bare legs and caressed them slightly. Hermione recoiled to his touch, which made him smirk.

"When Amycus has had his fun, I daresay you'll feel differently towards me. But have it your way, Hermione."

With that, he stood and left the dungeon, leaving Hermione in a state of silent panic, hoping to find a way out of the hell she now found herself.


	12. Chapter 12

The steady drip of condensation off the stony ceiling of the dungeon was what Hermione tried to keep her attention focused on. Sitting chained in an uncomfortable wooden chair, Hermione breathed and focused on anything but the impending torture. Amycus paced around her like a crocodile, waiting to strike. At first, he started off easy. He would tell her to confess how the spell worked. Hermione clenched her jaw shut resolutely. Then the barrage would come.

He grabbed her by the hair, forcing her head back, which he looked down on with malice.

"How does it work, you filthy little Mudblood?" He snarled.

Hermione smirked slightly. " _I don't know_."

 _Smack_ —The back of Amycus's hand collided with her cheek. She saw stars, and blinked away tears from the sting. Hermione looked at him in surprise. She had expected him to just  _Crucio_  her.

Hermione was drawn from the fire in Amycus's eyes by a voice, and slow, measured steps behind her. She knew instantly who it was, even though she had not seen him enter the dungeon.

Dolohov leaned forward, placing his hands on Hermione's shoulders, and crooned into her ear, "You're going to tell us how the spell works, Hermione. You can either take it from Amycus, and tell us… or you consent to be with me…" he paused. "And then you  _still_  tell us," he added, laughing with Amycus.

Dolohov retreated slightly, allowing Amycus to finally direct his first  _Crucio_  at Hermione. The pain was just as bad as she remembered. Bellatrix Lestrange had been cruel and insane. The intent behind Amycus's torture felt the same. This would clearly be more difficult to pull off than she imagined.

When he stopped, Hermione realized that the shrill sound in the dungeon had been her own screams. She sat there, straining against the chains, panting.

"Tell us, Mudblood," Amycus said, sending a backhand into the other side of Hermione's mouth. This strike felt worse, the sting more severe.

Tentatively, Hermione felt her lip with her tongue and tasted blood. With this realization, Hermione looked at Amycus with loathing.

"I don't  _know_ , you inbred nob," Hermione barked. "All I know is what you took. Torturing me will accomplish nothing."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Granger," Amycus said, kneeling down in front of Hermione. "I will get much enjoyment out of it. And that's accomplishment enough. For now…"

Hermione tried to swallow back the tears that threatened to fall, and set her expression as if it were etched in stone. She would have to dig deep to withstand what Amycus was likely to throw at her. She couldn't throw the towel in so easily. It had to be believable for her plan to work.

With a deep breath, Hermione withstood another  _Crucio_  from Amycus, panting and beginning to sweat when he withdrew his wand.

* * *

"And you say this Gillespie might be Imperiused?" Harry was saying as he and Sirius walked quickly down the entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic.

"Yes," he said. He had gone to Harry, who he knew was already on the case to find Hermione and the missing research, and had implored him to let him help find her.

"Then we've got to learn all we can about this guy. Who he was owling. Where he went on weekends."

"Right. His wife is in America."

"That's Kingsley's sister-in-law?" Harry asked. Sirius nodded. They both paused before the Floo networks.

"That'll be International Floo," Harry said, looking for the one fireplace that could accommodate International Floo travel. It was a relatively new bit of magic, and the Floo powder necessary was quite expensive. It led directly to the foyer of the Magical Congress of the United States, in New York City.

They found the fireplace they were looking for at the end, guarded by a stern-looking elderly witch, her hair in a bun so tight, Sirius thought that might account for her unnaturally tight face.

"Normally it takes approval from the director of the Floo Network Authority—that's Gertrude Brown—but we haven't got that time."

"Papers?" The stern witch said, her mouth puckering like she had just bitten into a lemon.

"Ah, yes, see, we're in a bit of a rush and haven't got our papers with us," Harry said, patting his robe pockets.

"No papers, no International Floo."

Sirius sighed impatiently, looking at Harry to act. Harry's mouth gaped open, searching for the right words that might convince this witch to let them pass.

"What's your name?" Sirius asked. The witch blinked.

"Pearl," she said, softening at Sirius. Sirius tried not to smile. He had a way with older women.

"Pearl," he said gently. "I know you will understand when I tell you that Harry and I are on a mission, personally tasked by the minister himself, to find out the location of Hermione Granger."

"The girl in the Historical Preservation Department?" she asked, her tone neutral.

"Yes. Some very bad wizards have her, and we need to find her."

"Why on earth would anyone want to take  _her_?" she asked, her expression blank.

Harry and Sirius exchanged a look. Both of them realized that this old witch had no idea what Hermione had been involved in the past several weeks.

"We think…" Harry started tentatively. "We think that followers of You-Know-Who… might have her. She's working on something very important. Something that made that element of the wizarding world rather unhappy."

"I see," she said, the internal struggle clear on her face.

"Pearl, Minister Shacklebolt will confirm everything that Harry and I have said. But please… Just this once, can you make an exception and let us through the Floo without papers? I'm… I'm to marry this girl, and the longer we take, the less chance we have of finding her."

All of the sudden, the serious face before them melted into an expression of deepest sympathy.

"You poor dear," she said, putting her wizened hand on Sirius's scruffy cheek. "You go on through. I'll clear this up with the Minister."

Sirius nodded his appreciation and took a handful of the powder. It glittered just like regular Floo powder, but was as black as coal.

"Same rules as normal Floo. Your destination?"

"Magical Congress of the United States of America," Sirius said, suddenly unsure of himself. He had never traveled internationally through the Floo network.

"Then say just that dear, and throw the powder."

Without a moment's hesitation, Sirius threw his powder into the grate, and shouted his destination, being pulled through the longest Floo trip he had ever experienced. Just when he thought he couldn't take any more of the dizziness, his feet hit ashen ground, and he stumbled into a brick wall.

Shaking the ashes from his vest, Sirius stepped out of the hearth, and looked around the great building in which he found himself. It was a good minute before Harry stepped out of the fireplace and began to acclimate to his new surroundings. The hall was dozens of stories high, with winding staircases and landings. The entrance was filled with such a brilliant light Sirius was now acutely aware that it was very early morning in America. He couldn't believe how much time had already passed since Hermione had been taken.

"Well, where do we start?" Sirius asked Harry, who looked just about as lost as Sirius.

"Suppose we ought to ask someone, shouldn't we?"

Wizards and witches were filing into the building, starting their work for the day. They were among very few witches and wizards already in the building.

A short and rosy-cheeked wizard strode by with a clipboard in his hands, and skidded to a halt. He looked back at the two wizards standing before him, and then to the fireplace. He looked at his clipboard and back at the two wizards. He did this at least three more times, and finally looked at the great golden clock on the wall.

"Not on the manifest," he said to himself. He looked shiftily towards the door where witches and wizards were coming in, talking amongst themselves.

" _You're_  not scheduled for arrival. Who are you?"

"Uh, yes, we made last minute plans, unfortunately there was no time for paperwork," Sirius said, drawing himself up slightly.

The wizard's cheeks grew even redder as he weighed his options.

"Unsanctioned travel through the International Floo isn't exactly forbidden… I could get in a lot of trouble…"

"We're here on behalf of the Ministry of Magic in the United Kingdom, we are here at the request of the Minister himself. His letter should be along soon." Harry switched on the serious Auror's voice he had only recently started to perfect. "Our mission is of great importance, and time is of the essence. We need to locate a certain witch living in America."

The wizard, roughly the age of Harry, nodded. Having not detected anything amiss with the two wizards before him, he waved for them to follow him. His footsteps were decidedly faster than Harry or Sirius had expected, and they had to rush to keep up. The wizard spoke over his shoulder.

"You'll have to register your wands first. Permits are needed for the practicing of magic here. Then, you'll want to go to the Hall of Records, where you can look up the address the witch you're looking for listed as her residence."

Harry and Sirius did all that the busy little wizard asked, and once they had permits safely in pocket, and had a slip of paper with Natalie Gillespie's address on it.

Sirius looked down at the slip of paper, and asked Harry "Any idea how we get to New Orleans?"

* * *

Hermione was still reeling from the fist that had been driven into her stomach. Amycus Carrow had alternated between Cruciatus curses and physical violence, which kept Hermione in a precarious pattern of anticipation.

With this last blow, Hermione coughed and gasped for air. When she looked up shakily, she was able to steal a glance to where Dolohov stood. She could see him flinch as she sucked in sharp breaths of air. Whatever he was, at least he didn't take pleasure in seeing Hermione beaten. She knew that she'd endured enough, and now was the time to act.

"Carrow, she's had enough now, don't you think?" Dolohov asked his partner quietly.

"She'll have had enough when I  _say_  she's had enough." Amycus raised his wand to send a  _Crucio_  straight at her, only to be stopped by the smallest utterance from Hermione.

"Stop," she panted. She shook her head, her hair clinging to her temples in a mix of sweat and blood.

"The spell?"

Hermione's lip curled fiercely as she looked at Carrow. "I never want to see your fucking face again. Can you promise I won't see his face again?" Hermione now looked over at Dolohov, who pushed himself off the dungeon wall in surprise.

"You never have to see him again." Dolohov reached Hermione, and knelt down. "You know it comes with a price, Hermione."

Hermione pressed her lips together in a thin line, her struggle clear as she considered her next move. She made the smallest of nods, and her eyebrows knit together in sorrow as she accepted her fate.

Amycus's jaw flexed as he looked from Dolohov to Hermione. He clearly did not want to hand Hermione over to Dolohov. Still, he relented, turning to Dolohov.

"The spell. That's what we're after. Don't forget that when you're…  _playing_  with her."

Dolohov stood up to Amycus and set his steely gaze on him. "You've had your moment, Amycus. This was the agreement. I can handle it from here."

Amycus skulked out of the dungeon door, leaving Dolohov alone with Hermione. Satisfied with the way things were going, Dolohov sauntered over to Hermione, and stood in front of her, still seated in the rigid wooden chair. He brought his hand to her face, and ran his thumb over the bruise below her lip that had started to form, and the cut that had stopped bleeding.

He tutted his disapproval of Amycus's work. Dolohov kept his thumb on Hermione's lips a moment longer, considering her before him. He leaned down slowly, stopping when his face was level with hers. Hermione couldn't bring herself to look Dolohov in the eyes.

Just as she predicted, Dolohov brought his lips down on hers in a wanting kiss, which Hermione was forced to endure. Every part of her wanted to pull away, but she needed him to think she had been beaten into submission. He pulled back and smiled at Hermione.

"I knew you'd see reason," he said, walking around to the back of the chair and magicking the chains off her wrists. Hermione was now completely free of restraints, not counting the magic-dampening silver chain around her neck. Hermione brought her wrists in front of her, and looked at their raw and bruised appearance. She hurt so badly all over, she wasn't sure she would stay upright much longer.

Just as she was falling out of her chair, Dolohov snapped to attention and scooped her up, and stood. Hermione lost consciousness just before Dolohov Disapparated out of the dungeon.

It was well into an hour before Hermione woke up. When she did, she was surprised and confused to find herself in a bed, and not on the damp floor of the dungeon. She hurt all over, but she was no longer cold. She was still dirty, her hair still matted against her head, but she was dry and warm, and for that she was thankful. No longer in chains, she wondered why she was no longer so restrained. A quick look around the room told her why.

Dolohov stood, looking out the window, staring into the black night sky. At the sound of Hermione's stirring, he looked over at her and smiled.

"You were out for a while."

Hermione remained silent.

Dolohov approached the bed, sitting at the edge of it. Hermione shifted uncomfortably and looked away. Considering her a moment, Dolohov reached over to the night stand and grabbed a damp rag and a porcelain bowl. He reached over as if to blot Hermione's forehead. She flinched away from him.

He gave her a serious look. "Hermione, I'm not going to hurt you."

Hermione looked back at him, holding his gaze seriously. "No, you'll just coerce me into having sex with you. They have a name for that."

Dolohov's dark eyes glittered with amusement. He bit his tongue for the moment. Placing the bowl on the nightstand, he leaned forward with the rag and began cleaning Hermione's face off with gentle pats and swipes.

A tense silence passed between them for what seemed like a century.

"I am not accustomed to forcing women to sleep with me. But Hermione, I am accustomed to getting what, and whomever, I want. And I want you. I have for a very long time."

Hermione's eyebrows scrunched together and she replied with derision, "Since that time you tried to kill me when I was fifteen? Or when I was seventeen?"

"I find you a singular woman, Hermione," he said, tossing the rag into the bowl, placing both his hands on either side of Hermione's head, knitting his fingers into her matted hair.

Hermione took a deep breath and endured the kiss that inevitably followed. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she struggled to get her wits about her. She had to act fast if she was to get away.

She dug deep within herself for bravery, and kissed the Death Eater back. Her response garnered a surprised look from Dolohov, in which he pulled back from Hermione and measured her response. Happy with what he found, he dove back in, kissing Hermione ardently, leaning her back into the plush pillows.

His hands made their way down onto her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders. She inched her way to the right gradually, hoping not to arouse his suspicion. When her fingers made contact, she acted quickly, bringing the porcelain bowl over the Death Eather's head, causing him to fall sideways onto the bed.

In the rush of adrenaline that flowed through her veins, Hermione was vaguely aware that Dolohov was dazed, but still shouted out for her as she ran out of the room. As she burst into the hallway, she looked left and right, not knowing which way to turn. Choosing left, Hermione found a great, winding staircase and a foyer of a stately mansion. A magical chandelier hung with no chain in the middle of the room.

Still not encountering anyone, Hermione ran down the stairs as fast as her weak legs would take her. Halfway down the staircase, Hermione's feet slipped, and she barely caught herself from falling by hanging onto the banister. Righting herself, her attention was drawn back to the hallway from which she came. Dolohov thundered down the hallway and shouted for his partners in crime.

"Carrow! McLaggen! Stop her!" he shouted, leaning weakly against the top of the banister, blood flowing freely from his temple.

Not waiting to tangle with the wizard, Hermione ran down the stairs two at a time, only to collide with Amycus Carrow, who had Apparated right in front of her, blocking the front door. Knocking him over with her forward trajectory, Hermione scrambled to her feet, and tore off down another hallway.

Jets of red, green, and purple light followed her, barely missing her as she tried to maneuver her way out of the house. It was Carrow's voice, nearer than she had hoped, that caused her to look backward.

"You're going to regret you were ever born, Mudblood! When I get my hands on you, you'll be  _begging_  for Antonin to make me stop."

Hermione didn't want to see what would happen if he did catch her, so she kept running, finding herself in the kitchen. She saw the dark, night sky through a door on the other side of the kitchen and her heart leapt. She was going to get out.

Her hand wrapped around the brass knob, and with a great sinking feeling, she realized it was locked with magic. Her dampening chain still circled her neck, and she sobbed as she jerked the door nob.

"No, no!" Hermione plead, and turned around looking for Carrow.

She thought she was done for, when all of the sudden—CRACK.

A tall figure in deep midnight blue robes Apparated before her. The stern face of Kingsley Shacklebolt looked down at Hermione.

Hermione's mouth gaped open like a goldfish, and she took in a sharp breath. She was saved.

Kingsley opened his mouth as if to speak, but his attention was drawn to the sounds in the foyer—curses breaking glass and priceless heirlooms. The shouting voices of Aurors, and three men on the run.

"I'm getting you out of here," Kingsley said, looking at the state of Hermione, realizing that his one job was not to fight the Death Eaters, but to secure Hermione's safety. "Hold onto me."

Hermione weakly grabbed hold of Kingsley's arm, and held on tightly as he Disapparated from the McLaggen mansion.


	13. Chapter 13

The next half hour passed by in a haze for Hermione. She sat on the edge of a St. Mungo’s hospital bed as Healers cleaned her wounds and applied healing salve, while Aurors asked her questions about the plot to kidnap her and make her perform the spell. She answered all she could, but when the shock set in, her limbs grew cold, and she shook uncontrollably. After the dumpy Healer-witch noticed Hermione’s psychological overload, she put a stop to the relentless questioning.

“Alright then, _that’s it_ , out, the lot of you!” she shouted, shoving the Aurors out. She stopped short of Kingsley, respecting his place as Minister of Magic. He gave her a look, and she rolled her eyes as if to say “fine”.

With the Aurors gone, Hermione’s shoulders slumped, and she found that she had been holding them up by her neck. She finally looked at Kingsley with gratitude as the Healer threw a blanket around her shoulders and tipped a calming draught into her mouth. Instantly, Hermione felt heat spread to her extremities, and she felt a wave of blissful calm wash over her.

“How did you know where I was?” Hermione asked, the Healer turning to ready the rest of her materials and potions.

“Never you mind that, Hermione. We followed every lead we had. I just couldn’t sit by any longer… You’ve taken the brunt of the abuse for this whole debacle. I…” Kingsley looked at the Healer, who was acting far too distracted for his liking. Still, he pressed onward. “The right people haven’t been held accountable for their actions. The pressure of becoming Minister hasn’t been easy to acclimate to. I only hope that I haven’t completely lost your respect or trust.”

Hermione’s eyes glittered with what might have been sadness, if she weren’t feeling the effects of the calming potion. Though still aware of her pain and exhaustion, Hermione was miraculously able to still feel sympathy for her friend.

“No, Kingsley, you haven’t…” she started, looking down at her legs and feet, which were dirtier than she thought. “I just can’t do this anymore.” Her eyes prickled, and tears welled up. “After all we went through to defeat Voldemort, only to have this thrown on me… I am sorry Kingsley, but I can’t do this anymore. Not in this way.”

Hermione stared blankly at her dirty hands, which rested palm up on her equally dirty and bare knees. Had she not have taken the blessed potion, Hermione was sure she would have been beyond consoling.

The Healer, yet again reading her patient’s mood, spoke again. “Minister, I think my patient has had enough excitement for one morning. She needs rest.” She held a purple potion ready in her hand, and held it in front of Hermione.

“What is it?” Hermione asked weakly.

“Dreamless Sleep.”

Hermione took the potion, and held it to her lips. She lowered it a moment, and looked at Kingsley one last time. “Where is Sirius?”

Kingsley’s eyes shone slightly. “Took Harry off on a lead. Had to sign the International Floo papers after they went to America in search of anything that might lead back to you.”

“ _America_?”

Kingsley nodded his head. “I’ll send for them. They’ll be back when you wake up. Take the potion, Hermione.”

Hermione did as she was told, and leaned back on the hospital bed, fading into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Hermione woke to a setting sun. Moving her limbs, she found that her filthy nightshirt had been replaced by soft and perfectly pristine hospital pajamas. She relished in the cleanness of her skin, thinking vaguely that the Healers must have given her a bath while she slept. As she moved, she felt the familiar soreness that accompanied bruising. 

Blinking sleep out of her eyes, Hermione made perfunctory movements in her hospital bed. Every way she moved, something hurt. Leaning forward to sit up, Hermione grimaced and hissed at the pain. Still, Hermione was not one for convalescence, and she had to find out where Harry and Sirius were.

Hermione managed to sit upright, very slowly, and swung her bare feet over the bed, finding the cold tile floor. Gingerly she put weight on her legs, which was no easy feat, given the strain she had been put through. Each muscle screamed in pain from overwork. Her stomach muscles fired as she struggled to keep herself upright, causing more pain. She gritted her teeth, determined not to fall, and padded silently out of the private hospital room, bracing herself against walls, door frames, anything she could to navigate.

In the hall she found the usual sight for St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies—Healers rushing from one room to the next. A man shuffled down the hallway past Hermione, whose skin was a bright shade of purple. A Healer took notice of him immediately, and quickly snapped to attention.

“Mr. Wainwright, you shouldn’t be up! They’ve been looking all over for you.” Quickly she ushered him down the hallway, and Hermione set to her search for information.

She approached a witch who was flipping pages on a chart.

“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice barely noticeable, and very gravelly. She had clearly exhausted her vocal cords in that room with Amycus Carrow switching between fists and _crucio_ curses. Clearing her throat, Hermione spoke with more force. “Nurse?”

The nurse, not much older than Hermione, turned to her and smiled in response. “Yes?”

“Could you--? Is there someone from the Ministry here? An Auror or—“ Before Hermione had a chance to finish, she heard the rumble of footsteps and hurried chatter behind her.

“I’ve told you, Kingsley, I’m not waiting any longer to see—f” Sirius’s voice carried unmistakably through the hall. Hermione turned and saw Kingsley and Sirius in a heated conversation, walking hurriedly down the hallway. The moment Hermione’s eyes met Sirius’s, the air sucked from her lungs. Time slowed, and Sirius rushed forward, closing the gap between them.

“Hermione,” Sirius said, the relief he felt drawing his face tightly. When they met, Sirius wrapped his arms around her as she pushed herself off the wall into his embrace. She swayed slightly under him, betraying the pain she was in by whimpering slightly as he compressed her ribs.

The second she made the sound, Sirius backed off, looking at her up and down.

“I am so sorry, this is all my fault,” Sirius shook his head. He looked drawn, like he hadn’t slept since she was taken.

“No, it’s not,” Hermione started. The squeak of shoes meeting tile met their ears, and an irate Healer marched up to Sirius, pointing her stubby finger at him.

“I’ll thank you to stop pestering my patient, the lot of you,” she said. “Bed!”

Hermione sighed and looked back at the Healer. She nodded, feeling faint already. Sirius held Hermione’s elbows as she walked back to her room. When her leg muscles seized, Hermione swayed to the side and braced herself against the wall.

Before she could protest, Hermione was scooped up in Sirius’s arms and carried the few feet back to her room, and put down in her bed. As soon as he’d placed her in the bed, the Healer shoved him aside and started fussing with the linens, tucking Hermione in.

“How you lot expect this girl to heal without bed rest is beyond me! I set your ribs while you were sleeping, but you’ll be sore, and it won’t get any better unless you _stay in bed_.”

The three of them, Kingsley, Sirius and Hermione, all quietly accepted the Healer’s admonishments. Still, they waited for her to finish. She got the hint and huffed.

“Alright, fine, take this potion for pain, but do not move from this bed until you are discharged, do you understand? Minister?”

Kingsley spoke for the three of them. “Yes, Bertie, this is the last Miss Granger will be disobeying your orders.”

Bertie, satisfied but still looking prickly, nodded and marched out the door, pressing the remaining potion into Sirius’s hands.

His sad eyes met Hermione’s and he gave her the potion, which she took gladly.

“Thank you. I don’t think there’s a body part that doesn’t hurt…” Hermione said, knocking the foul-tasting green liquid back in one gulp.

Sirius blanched. “Hermione, did they…”

Hermione looked Sirius over, shaking her head in reassurance. “But Dolohov seemed determined. That was just a perk for him—they were after the reversal to the spell. Kingsley, they took the journals, the spell, everything—”

“Hermione, relax,” Kingsley said, holding his hands up. “The Aurors have retrieved everything. Carrow and Dolohov barely made it out, they didn’t have time to take the materials with them. They left McLaggen though, and Vincent we found in a broom closet. He’d been put under a fairly heavy Imperius Curse.”

Hermione took a breath, taking all of the news in. She cleared her throat with difficulty and spoke in her gravelly tone.

“We were trying to accomplish the same thing, Kingsley, and still they took me, and tortured me.” Her eyes shone with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

“I know, Hermione,” Kingsley said, his arms crossed. “Maybe they didn’t think that when they took you. You know how zealots think—or rather, they _don’t_ think.”

Sirius stood sentinel beside Hermione’s bed, looking down at his betrothed, battered as she was. “It stops now,” he said, sounding so many years older than he was. “Hermione’s given enough in this fight. First with Harry, and now this.” He turned his eyes on Hermione, and sat on her bed, taking her hand in his.

“I think Hermione deserves a break from all this,” he continued. Hermione nodded in agreement with Sirius.

“Yes, Kingsley, I…” she said. “I need some time off from this. A leave of absence. I don’t think I’ll be coming back until after the spell’s time limit is up. I want no part of this.”

Kingsley’s jaw flexed a moment, but he simply nodded. “Of course, Hermione. The team will keep working without you. Barris will take over for you, and if you wish to come back, it will be your call.”

Hermione shook her head, looking down at her hands in her lap. “Kingsley, it’s not going to be simple… It’s the worst kind of magic.” She looked up at his dark eyes, which searched hers. “It’s blood magic. That’s the only reason I can think of that they took me—they think you won’t do what it takes to reverse the spell.”

“Hermione, are you sure?” Kingsley asked, his mouth going dry.

Hermione nodded. “ _Old_ blood magic. The journal translation is mostly finished, but I’ll save you the summary… Salazar Slytherin taught the other Founders blood magic. That’s how they did it.”

Kingsley sighed and crossed his arms. “I see.”

“So you see, Kingsley… I really mean it when I say I won’t be a part of it.”

Kingsley nodded and pushed off the wall he had been leaning on. “Alright, Hermione. We’ll take it from here. Get some rest.” He looked to Sirius. The two shared a look, and without another word, Kingsley was gone.

As the door closed, Sirius sat on the edge of Hermione’s bed, and took her hand in his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Hermione could see his eyes were glassy with tears.

“Sirius,” Hermione said, leaning forward and grabbing his other hand. “ _It’s not your fault_.”

“When I think what they could have done to you… what they _did_ do to you,” he said, and looked up at her, his silver eyes drawn.

Hermione shook her head, and let Sirius’s hands go. She scooted forward to meet Sirius on the bed. She put her hands on his cheeks, smoothing his beard down.

“But they didn’t. And I swear if you punish yourself for what they did any longer, I’ll refuse you and we’ll be done with this whole mess in the first place,” she said, smiling.

Sirius sighed, and pulled her to him in an embrace. She sunk into his chest willingly, and he held her there, tight against his chest. She breathed in his scent—the exotic and enigmatic smell that always clung to him, and stale sweat.

She thought briefly she might tease him for it, but the way he snaked his fingers into her hair and held her stopped her in her tracks. She pulled back to look up at him again.

“I don’t want to stay here a moment longer,” she said. “There’s nothing more they can do for me that I can’t get from a potion at home.”

Sirius searched her eyes. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea, Hermione,” Sirius said. “Have you seen the nurses here? I wouldn’t want to tangle with them.” He said, trying his hand at a light joke.

Hermione smiled, and pushed past his thinly veiled deflection. “I’m getting out of here with or without you, Sirius Black. Although I’d much prefer it with the help of a Marauder. Or are we turning over a new leaf?”

Sirius grumbled, and held her tighter. “Merlin… If _Hermione Granger_ wants to break the rules and I won’t follow, what in the world does that say about me?”

Hermione smiled, satisfied.

“But I’ll not take you back to your flat. Grimmauld Place is still under the Fidelius Charm, and that flat of yours isn’t even a wizarding community.”

Hermione tucked her hair behind her ears, and flushed pink as Sirius helped her to her feet.

She had meant Grimmauld Place all along.

* * *

Hermione thumbed through the most recent Witch Weekly as she waited her turn at the salon. Ginny had her feet in a bowl of soapy, scented water and was smiling and laughing at the witch who was giving her a pedicure. Molly and Fleur smiled and laughed as well. 

Ginny and Harry’s wedding was tomorrow, and Hermione had played the part of dutiful friend as well as she could in the weeks following her abduction. She secretly dreaded the event, because she would inevitably have to face Ron.

“Miss,” a voice beckoned, calling Hermione to a chair next to Fleur, which was now open. Hermione smiled obligingly, and sat in the chair. She watched as the wine red color was painted on. It was Fleur’s voice that brought her out of her trance.

“Hmmm?”

“I said, ‘ow is it living with Sirius?” Fleur repeated, a glimmer in her eyes.

Hermione sighed and smiled. “It’s fine, Fleur,” she said. She tucked her hair back behind her ears.

“Ah, zat is why you are blushing,” Fleur said, her hand playing on the small baby bump that had just started to form.

Hermione scoffed. She smiled and looked out at the busy streets of Diagon Alley.

“This is Ginny’s moment, Fleur,” Hermione quietly reminded Fleur.

“I can always tell about a man,” Fleur said. “You can play coy, but I know zees things.”

“ _What_ can you always tell?” Ginny asked, looking at Fleur, who sat on her right.

Fleur sucked her teeth a moment. “Nothing,” she replied, saving Hermione the embarrassment.

Unconvinced, but unwilling to be distracted from her giddiness, Ginny turned back to her mother and recommenced their conversation.

Still, Fleur lowered her voice to Hermione. “I know men like Sirius,” she said, flattening the skirt over her lap. “I know ‘ow they are.”

Hermione sighed. She hated to take the bait, but she couldn’t help it.

“ _How_ are they, Fleur?”

“Insatiable,” she said simply, stifling a giggle.

Hermione flushed scarlet. “I assure you, I wouldn’t know.”

“Sure, ze curse, you must be careful, but… the way you blush tells me that you know a little of what I speak.”

Hermione watched the witch painting her nails a moment longer before replying. In truth, she only knew a bit. Ever since that night in Wray Castle, Sirius hadn’t touched her, save for small kisses goodnight. It infuriated her. It saddened her. They had been living under the same roof for two weeks, and still he had not touched her. She hadn’t mustered up the courage to ask why, but she had an idea.

When the girls had finished in the salon, they set off for their respective homes, to reconvene at a later hour for the wedding rehearsal. Hermione had been dreading the event. But much like the wedding itself, it had to happen. She had to face Ron.

When she Apparated to the foyer of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, she tossed her purse carelessly onto the large circular table just below the grand staircase.

Absentmindedly she made her way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, pulling out her wand to set the fire under the kettle. As she pulled a teacup and saucer out of the cabinet, a voice from behind her caused her to startle.

“Pull one down for me too,” Sirius’s voice said. Hermione gasped as the teacup hit the black and white checked tile floor and shattered to pieces.

“Blast,” she said, kneeling down a second after meeting Sirius’s eyes. “Repairo,” she said, pointing her wand at the teacup and returning it to its unbroken form.

“Sorry,” Sirius said, walking to where she knelt. He knelt and met her down on the floor, taking the teacup and saucer from her. “Everything alright?”

Hermione pressed her lips together, and stood, grabbing another cup for Sirius as he asked.

“I can’t do this tonight,” she said, looking at him imploringly.

“Yes you can,” he said sympathetically, setting both cups on the counter, snaking his fingers into her hair. She held onto his vest, and looked up at him expectantly.

As if jolted from his trance, Sirius took his hands from Hermione’s hair, and stepped back. He distracted himself by checking on the kettle, which was nowhere near boiling.

Hermione’s stomach fell. Every time he got close to her, he pulled back.

“I’m not really in the mood for tea, now that I think about it,” Hermione said, and stalked out of the kitchen.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Sirius followed, calling after her.

“Hermione,” he said, and her steps slowed. Still, she kept walking, and Sirius was forced to make up the difference, taking two at a time until he was able to reach her. He grabbed her hand from behind, stopping her. “ _Hermione_.”

She rounded on him, the welled-up tears in her eyes threatening to fall. She looked at him expectantly.

“Wh… what’s wrong?” he asked. But he knew.

“Do you even have to ask?”

Sirius’s lips pressed together, and he considered her a moment.

“The past two weeks here with you have been wonderful, Sirius. You’ve been so patient with me. This time has been… very healing,” she said, and the tears finally fell. “But very lonely.”

The words struck very harshly—maybe Hermione had been to hard on Sirius, but it was how she felt. He stood there, dumbstruck, and watched as Hermione rounded the corner at the top of the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute since I updated this story! I really hope to finish this fan fiction soon. I do have Adult Responsibilities™ to attend to, but ideally I would like to finish this story in the next few months. I just want to wrap up all loose ends on my fan fics that I've started and neglected. So as always, your kind comments are wonderful, and so appreciated. I read each one! This chapter's for you who've waited so patiently.


	14. Chapter 14

As Hermione looked across the aisle at Ron, listening to the snippets of the ceremony rehearsal, she tried to envision what her wedding to Ron would have been like. The scowl on his face made it nearly impossible. Deep down, Hermione still felt some kind of love for Ron, but now, seeing how sour he was at his own sister and best friend’s wedding rehearsal, Hermione felt little sympathy for him. 

When the rehearsal had finished, Ron very begrudgingly offered Hermione his arm. It was expected of him. She could feel how tensely he was holding himself. She had been wracking her brain the whole rehearsal, thinking of what to say to Ron, but came up short.

“How have you been?” Hermione offered quietly as they walked down the aisle of chairs in the lawn at the newly rebuilt Burrow.

“Don’t,” he managed through gritted teeth.

“Don’t _what_ , Ron?” Hermione sassed, trying to replace the hurt in her heart with annoyance.

“Not here. Not now,” he said, and at the end of the makeshift aisle, he let his arm go straight, severing their link. As the others in the wedding party began to loiter and talk happily, Ron skulked off to the back entrance to the new Burrow, where the kitchen was.

Hermione thought briefly about following Ron, but was stopped by Ginny putting a glass of wine in her hand.

“Let him go,” Ginny said, her face glowing with happiness.

“Ginny, this is going to be a disaster,” Hermione pleaded. “I can’t be here. He can’t even bear to look at me, let alone speak with me.”

“Oh, he knows he needs to shape up. Mum will straighten him out. You’ll see, by tomorrow, he’ll be fine.” Ginny seemed so sure. Hermione swallowed her doubt for the moment, and drank appreciatively of the white wine in her hand.

“So when’s your date?” Ginny asked, looking over at Sirius and Harry, who were smiling and drinking fire whisky in the dying light of the setting sun.

“M-my… date?” Hermione asked, confused.

“Your wedding date?” Ginny prodded. “I’ve gotten a thousand invitations, and still haven’t seen yours.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, her face falling. “Uh, we haven’t set the date yet.”

“Haven’t set the… _Hermione_ , the spell goes into effect on January 1st, and even then, the _Daily Prophet_ said that was a generous estimate.”

“I know,” Hermione said, so quietly Ginny barely heard. Despite the pleasant September weather, Hermione drew her arms around her waist, hugging the soft fabric of her black dress. “Things are… different… since Carrow and Dolohov.”

“Different how?” Ginny pressed.

“Ginny, this is your rehearsal night,” Hermione pleaded. “You don’t want to hear about this.”

“Hermione, none of this whole situation is ideal. I love Harry, but if we had it our way, we wouldn’t be marrying until we are a bit older—you’re not exactly ruining a fairytale wedding. Hermione, if I’d known something was up between you and Sirius, I would have been there for you. To think, you’ve been in Grimmauld Place the past two weeks…”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it. You had the wedding to plan.”

“Hermione, _for Merlin’s sake_ , I am not the only one in this mess. You were kidnapped, tortured… I thought Sirius was taking care of you, so I kept my distance.”

“He was, Gin, I mean… he is,” Hermione said, dismissively.

“But?”

Hermione huffed, and walked with Ginny towards a bench under an arbor. She sat down heavily.

“But he hasn’t touched me since that night.”

“You mean…”

Hermione caught Ginny’s eyes. “Not that, but… more than with Ron or Viktor. I know, that’s not what you want to know about your brother…”

Ginny laughed. “You still haven’t told me what it was, Hermione, how can I be repulsed yet?”

Hermione smirked despite herself. “I’d only ever kissed Ron or Viktor. And Sirius and I wanted to be careful that we didn’t trigger the spell a lose our magic, so… we just…” Hermione blushed, and put her thumbnail between her teeth.

“Okay, okay,” Ginny laughed, “So you had a little fun, I won’t press any further. That doesn’t explain why he hasn’t touched you since.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Hermione said, dejected. She looked over to Sirius and Harry. Sirius caught sight of Hermione, and his face grew serious.

“You don’t think he blames himself for what happened, do you?”

“Oh, I know he does,” Hermione said sullenly.

“But that’s daft,” Ginny said.

“I know,” Hermione said, agreeing very weakly. “I haven’t had the guts to confront him about it.”

“Hermione,” Ginny said, taking her friend’s free hand in hers. “No one has refused since Cormac. No one believes the Ministry is going to fix this. So it’s safe to say, unless you want to lose your magic, you and Sirius are going to get married. You have to take care of this.”

“I know.”

“ _Tonight_ ,” Ginny impressed.

“Not tonight, Gin,” Hermione said.

“When then, _tomorrow night_?” Ginny rebuked, amused. “I may be understanding of your personal struggles, ‘Mione, but you have to allow me to at least be a little bit of a bridezilla.”

Hermione smirked. “You’re getting there.”

Ginny’s mouth hung open in feigned offense. “Oh really?” She laughed, and nudged Hermione’s arm with her own, sending the two girls into a bout of laughter.

“Having all the fun without me, I see,” Harry said, his voice drawing their attention. He had walked up with Sirius, and planted a kiss on Ginny’s cheek.

Hermione felt a tingle in her cheeks as she looked at Sirius.

“Harry,” Ginny said, taking his hand, and letting Hermione’s go. “I need your help in the kitchen.” She rose, and looked back at Hermione, shooting her a meaningful look.

Hermione’s eyes widened as Harry sputtered in reply. “Uh, of course Gin, but dinner’s going to start soon.”

“Not without the bride-and-groom-to-be it’s not,” Ginny said, and pulled him off towards the Burrow.

Hermione watched in silence as Ginny snaked her arm through Harry’s, and the two of them went through the back door to the kitchen.

Sirius stood a moment, and sat next to Hermione on the bench.

“You look lovely tonight,” he said quietly, looking down into his whisky glass.

Hermione nodded uncomfortably. “Thank you.”

“Hermione, I… about today,” Sirius said, putting his whisky glass down on the grass beside him. He turned to face her completely. “I should have followed you.”

“Oh?” Hermione didn’t want to give away too much of how she felt.

Sirius took the wine glass from her hands, and set it down beside his own glass before taking her hand in his. He sighed.

“The way I’ve acted towards you since… _that night_ … is unforgivable.”

Hermione, perhaps incensed a little at how vague he was being, pushed him further. “ _How_ have you acted, Sirius?”

He laughed breathily. “You’re not going to make this any easier, are you?”

Hermione held his gaze, her eyes wide. No, her eyes said, she wasn’t.

“I have kept my distance from you. I’ve pushed you away.”

“You won’t touch me,” Hermione said, looking at the hand that now held hers. “Not in that way.”

Sirius’s eyes furrowed in sadness.

“Hermione, what Dolohov did to you… _almost_ did to you… I didn’t want you to think that’s all I want from you. I didn’t want to push you.”

Hermione looked up at Sirius, her hazel eyes softening. “Sirius, before the year ends, we have to marry, or we lose our magic. _I don’t think that sex is all you want from me_. But I do want to think it’s at least one of the things you want from me.”

Sirius’s mouth gaped a moment before he willed himself to close it. “You… you do?”

“Sirius,” Hermione said, placing her free hand on his chest, resting over the pocket square in his jacket. “Is it so hard to believe that I want you?”

Sirius sighed, and gently put his free hand at the back of Hermione’s neck. “I’ll never know what I did to be so lucky.”

Before she could reply, Sirius bridged the distance between them, and kissed her deeply and passionately. After a few moments, Sirius pulled a few inches back from her mouth, and looked down at her eyes, lidded and hazy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Can you forgive me?”

Unable to speak, Hermione nodded, and leaned her forehead back into Sirius’s before kissing him once more.

* * *

Hermione stood idly by the drink table and watched as Harry and Ginny’s rehearsal dinner unfolded. If this was only the rehearsal dinner, Hermione knew that the wedding reception was going to be twice as fun. She watched serenely as the Weasleys, and various other close friends laughed and drank. Tomorrow there would be more guests (after all, it’s not every day that Harry Potter gets married). 

A sigh met her ears, and Ron shuffled up to the table to pour himself another fire whisky. Hermione turned and watched him. He poured his drink, and leaned against the table a few feet from her.

“She’s good for him, isn’t she?” he asked, looking straight ahead at the bride and groom who sat laughing with Bill, Charlie and Fleur.

“Yeah, she is,” Hermione said. “I don’t think he could be with anyone else. She’s independent and complete without him…”

Ron’s face flinched when he smiled, the familiarity between them painful to say the least.

“How are you and Cho getting along?” Hermione asked gently.

Ron drank from his fire whisky again. “Good. Still getting used to the whole idea of marrying someone I didn’t choose.”

Hermione gave that comment a moment’s thought. “I think we all are.”

Another beat passed between them.

“Harry says you made a breakthrough with the spell… before Carrow and Dolohov took you. They won’t release that in the _Prophet_ , I know.”

Hermione nodded. “I’m not working on that anymore, Ron. If you knew how dangerous it was, you wouldn’t even ask me…”

“More than anything we’ve faced before?” Ron challenged, his face sober despite all the fire whisky she had seen him consume tonight.

“Do you really believe that I would shrink away from something if it wasn’t more dangerous than facing Voldemort?” Hermione asked, heat in her voice.

Ron stepped closer to Hermione, and stood in front of her as she leaned against the table. His movement surprised her, and she stood frozen.

“If it means we could be together again, why won’t you try?” he asked, softening, and leaning into her. He placed his hands on either side of the table, almost leaning over her.

“Ron, this isn’t the time or place to explain,” Hermione deflected, placing her hand on his chest to stop him.

“So he’s that good, hmm? Haven’t looked back at all, have you?” Ron said, his breath heavy with the scent of whisky. His hand found her thigh, and started to move her skirt up.

“Ron, _stop_ ,” Hermione warned, putting her hand on his forearm, hoping he would listen to her.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron crooned, his thumb finding the seam of her underwear at her hip. “Just once before it’s too late.”

“I said _stop_!” Hermione growled, kneeing him in the groin. Ron bent at the hip and clutched his manhood.

Hermione slid out from between Ron and the table, and searched the yard for Sirius. When she found his gaze, the smile that played on his face vanished, and he rushed to her.

“Hermione, is everything okay?” Sirius asked, putting his hand on the back of her head to comfort her. She panted, trying to slow her thundering heartbeat.

“Yes, let’s just get out of here, okay?”

“Why? What happened?”

Hermione opened her mouth to deflect Sirius’s inquiry, but was interrupted.

“Bitch!” Ron growled.

“Ron, you’re drunk,” Hermione said, hoping to keep Sirius and Ron from facing off. “Go inside and sleep it off.”

“What did he do to you, Hermione?” Sirius asked. When she didn’t answer, Sirius stalked up to Ron. Hermione could see he was using tremendous effort to keep himself from attacking his godson’s best friend.

“Ron, I think it’s time you let this go,” Sirius warned, his grey eyes blazing.

“Stay out of this, _old man_ ,” Ron warned.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Sirius said, pointing a finger in Ron’s face. “Let’s get one thing straight. I care about you, Ron, but it won’t stop me from protecting Hermione. So you’re going to leave her alone, or we’re going to have a problem. Got it?”

Ron held Sirius’s gaze, his jaw set, considering if he wanted to accept the challenge. Deciding he didn’t, he looked away, and walked off without so much as another word.

“Sirius,” Hermione said, coming up at Sirius’s elbow. She held onto the dark green velvet fabric. “Let it go, it’s over.”

He looked back at her, and drew her into his arms. “I never expected that from him,” he said, whispering into her hair.

“Ron would never hurt me,” Hermione said. “He’s just drunk.”

“When men drink, Hermione, it has a tendency to bring out their true nature,” Sirius reasoned, hoping he didn’t come across too patronizing.

“I hope you’re wrong,” Hermione said.

“I think it’s best if we just go,” Sirius said, pulling away from Hermione. “Let Ron sober up, and get a good night’s sleep before Harry’s wedding.”

“Yeah,” Hermione breathed. “Okay.”

Hermione and Sirius said their goodbyes, and said nothing to Harry and Ginny of Ron’s behavior. Sirius held out his arm for Hermione and the two Disapparated, side-along, to Grimmauld Place.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fluff for you, my lovely readers. Working hard on more chapters!

Sirius and Hermione’s feet met the tile floor of the entryway of Grimmauld Place, and without a word, Sirius helped Hermione take off her jacket, hanging it on the coat tree. Hermione waited as Sirius removed his own.

They stood there a moment, not saying anything, but looking at the state of the other.

“I don’t know about you,” Sirius said, “but I don’t think I could sleep now, even if I tried.”

Hermione chuckled breathily. “No…” She looked down at her hands.

Sirius’s lips pressed together in thought a moment. “How about you change into something comfortable and meet me in the study? I’ll put the kettle on.”

“That sounds perfect,” Hermione said with audible relief. She stepped out of her heels instantly, which caused a thrill in Sirius’s heart—she truly looked like she felt at home in Grimmauld Place. Still, he said nothing, and nodded with a small smirk as Hermione padded her way up the stairwell barefoot, her heels in hand.

Sirius stood there a moment, paralyzed with a thought.

_What if he did it tonight?_

Sirius put his hand on the pocket of his waistcoat, at his side, and felt the thing inside. He’d been carrying it with him since Hermione had come home from St. Mungo’s. In the time following, he had never felt the time was right. He desperately wanted it to be.

Shaking himself from his daze, he made his way to the kitchen, and set the kettle to boil with his wand. In a moment, the kettle whistled, and he poured the hot water into a pot, and prepared the tea tray, which he carried to the study. He set the tray on a table, and set the fire with his wand. As he rose from his knees in front of the fireplace, he saw Hermione enter the study.

She wore a flannel button down sleep shirt that fell just above her knees—Gryffindor red—thick woolen socks, and her hair fell over her shoulder in a hastily thrown-together plait. She tugged at the end of the braid as she always did when she was nervous. Sirius knew she was unaware she did it, and he found it endearing.

She smiled, and sat down on the black velvet couch in front of the fire, drawing her knees up to her chest. Without a word, Sirius poured her tea—green, as he knew she preferred at night—and then his own. They had an easy manner at home together. The routines they established were simple, but cherished by both.

Hermione sipped from her tea, and looked at Sirius as he sat rigid and still dressed from the rehearsal.

“Now, this isn’t going to work, Sirius,” she said, putting her cup and saucer down on the side table and turning back to face Sirius.

His face blanched.

“It’s meant to relax us—and we can’t do that if you’re still dressed like that,” she said, a mirthful but calm sparkle in her eyes. He didn’t know how she did that—stayed so positive despite the real scare she had that night at the hands of her former boyfriend.

Sirius sighed and smiled despite the seed of nervousness that had taken root in him.

“You’re right,” he said, and rose quickly. He placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry. Quickly remedied.”

And he was gone. It felt like it took forever to get to his room, and yet when the door closed behind him, he could barely remember walking up there. He took the ring from his pocket, and held it in his palm.

He had retrieved it from the Black family vault at Gringott’s less than a week after the betrothal list had been published in _The Daily Prophet_. He had wrestled with whether he needed to ask her or not. How would he give it to her? Would she even want it? It was a Black family heirloom—maybe she wouldn’t, given the people who had once worn it. It had adorned the hands of three Black matriarchs. It had been worn by his own mother, Walburga. That alone convinced Sirius that Hermione would refuse it.

But its magic was old and strong, and its importance to Sirius great. He didn’t know what he would do if she refused to wear it. But he had to try.

Resolved, Sirius pocketed it in the sleeping pants he had donned, and padded downstairs barefoot, his heart hammering.

Hermione looked back at him when she heard him at the doorway. She smiled at his change into lounge pants and a long sleeved knit shirt.

“Now we’re even,” Hermione said, closing her book gently, ensuring her bookmark was neatly positioned.

Sirius sat down, but kept his forearms on his knees. He clasped his hands together and stared at them a moment.

“Sirius,” Hermione said, putting her hand on his shoulder to rouse him from his thought. “What’s wrong?”

Sirius steeled himself, and looked over at Hermione. For a moment, he was speechless.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Sirius said. “I wanted to wait for your birthday, the night after Harry and Ginny’s wedding, but the longer I wait, the more I think I’ll go mad from impatience.”

Hermione flushed pink, and he could see her chest heave a moment. She pushed past it. “Sirius, you don’t have to… we’re already—”

“No, I do,” Sirius said, reaching out, and taking Hermione’s hand in one of his own. He looked down at it, so much smaller than his. “I may have rebelled from my family’s traditions and history, but this is one that I insist I keep.”

Sirius took a steadying breath, let go of Hermione’s hand, reached into his pocket, and withdrew the ring he hoped she would accept.

He turned it over a moment, allowing the gem and marcasite embellishments to catch the light cast from the fireplace.

“This ring has been in my family for generations. My own mother wore it,” Sirius said, still not daring to look up from the ring. “So I’ll understand if you don’t want it. But I always wanted to give it to someone I loved, and have new memories formed around it.”

“Sirius, I—” Hermione started, but Sirius stopped her.

“Let me say this,” Sirius said, hoping not to lose his nerve. “Or else I’ll never get the nerve up again.”

Hermione was silent, but he could now sense that she was breathing heavily.

“It’s a black diamond,” he said, looking into its depths. “My great-great grandfather, Phineas Nigellus Black, gave it to his wife, Ursula Flint.” Sirius looked into Hermione’s eyes and added, “You of course know that he was a Hogwarts Headmaster…”

Sirius held Hermione’s gaze a moment, and could see the dewy expression in her eyes.

“Hermione, I’ll never understand the way the universe brought us together, but I’m thankful it did. The Founders did a horrible thing. But Merlin be damned if it wasn’t the best thing that’s happened to me since…” Sirius trailed off. “We’ve got this whole thing backwards, and I know it’ll take us time to get to know each other, but for my part… I’ve been falling in love with you since this started. If I’m being truly honest, I’m already there.”

Hermione’s breath escaped her in a sharp burst, and the tears that held onto her lashes finally fell.

“I love your mind, your spirit, your heart…” Sirius said, and took Hermione’s hand in his. “I love—I love you,” he said, barely a whisper, and Hermione knew that was all he could manage for the moment.

Hermione rested her free hand on Sirius’s scruffy cheek, and lightly traced her thumb there. She leaned forward, and kissed his lips gently before pulling back to look back into his steely grey eyes.

“Hermione, will you marry me?”

Hermione’s face broke into a smile, and her eyebrows knit together. She nodded through tears, managing to whisper “yes”. Sirius choked back his own tears, and held Hermione to his chest. When the two had recovered a bit, they put space between them, allowing for Sirius to put the ring on Hermione’s hand. Hermione held her hand out and admired it a moment.

“I love it, Sirius,” she said, and looked back up at him. She wiped twin tears away from his face with her thumbs. She kissed him chastely, pausing to revel in the calm it gave her.

Hermione pulled away, and looked into his grey eyes.

“I love you too,” she whispered, and chuckled through tears.

His eyebrows went up, looking for reassurance. She nodded.

Sirius pulled Hermione to him again, and kissed her deeply. Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and held on as he pressed her back into the couch pillows. Hermione opened her legs to allow Sirius to settle there. He put one hand at her back, and his other arm braced over her shoulder, keeping him from crushing her.

Hermione held onto his torso with her legs, and her hands found their way into his hair at the nape of his neck.

They stayed like this for a few moments, and before Sirius could get carried away, he pulled back, and looked down at her.

“We’ve got a wedding tomorrow,” Sirius said. He shook his head with a smile. “We’ve got to get some sleep.”

Hermione sighed. “I know,” she said, and brought her leg up a moment to caress Sirius’s side.

“Merlin’s beard,” Sirius said, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t want to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” Hermione breathed. She paused a moment before stopping herself. “But you’re right… Tomorrow is an important day.”

“Will you come to bed with me tonight?” Hermione asked, telling herself that it was just for sleep.

Sirius scoffed. “I don’t think we’d get any sleep that way. Any other night, I wouldn’t give a hippogriff’s arse…”

Hermione nodded, and pecked Sirius on the lips.

“Tomorrow,” Hermione said, nodding. Sirius nodded in agreement.

Sirius and Hermione eventually made their way up the stairs, pausing every few feet to kiss and hold each other. At the top of the stairs, Sirius pressed Hermione against a wall, and hooked her leg up to his hips as he kissed her.

A moment later, he stepped back, putting space between them.

“Not helping, am I?” he said.

Hermione giggled softly and shook her head. She grabbed a fistful of his night shirt, and pulled him to her one last time for a parting kiss.

“Goodnight, Sirius,” she said, her lips only a hair away from his.

“Goodnight,” he replied. Hermione backed away, and her hand secured around her bedroom doorknob. In a moment, she disappeared behind the closed door, leaving Sirius standing in the hall, feeling like he could fly without a broom.

He ran his hands through his hair, and as he walked down the hallway to his own bedroom, he laughed breathily. With our without Hermione in bed, Sirius knew sleep just wasn’t in the cards tonight.


End file.
